


Futuristic Casket

by nostalgic90s



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Begging, Biting, Blood Kink, Character Death, Consensual Non-Consent, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Necrophilia, Impulse Control, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Kissing, Light Petting, M/M, Marking, Obsessive Behavior, Schizophrenia, grave desecration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-06-23 07:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 71,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15600969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgic90s/pseuds/nostalgic90s
Summary: Bruce Wayne's clone resurfaces in Gotham City at it's darkest hour.Jeremiah Valeska is building his empire and by chance crosses paths with a lost 'boy'.Curious about the soulless creature with sad eyes, Jeremiah offers a roof over his head in exchange for conversation. But is that all he really wants?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> XD Oh gawd, what have I started? When inspiration hits ya just gotta go with it I guess.
> 
> Thoughts on the pairing? Thoughts on the chapter? 
> 
> It's 4:00am and I wanted to write something heart wrenching. Let's see if I can accomplish it.

**I must have died**

  
**A thousand times**

  
**When I get out**

  
**I'll rule the earth**

 

Dark, blissful, mayhem.

Gotham City has had it's share of turmoil and atrocities but this...this was Armageddon. 

A new, dire chapter and quite possibly the last one for Gotham residents. Only those with power, most of which are inhuman or half-human, will survive the pitch black apocalypse. 

After the unfortunate incident where Jerome's remaining followers were incinerated, the pale man has to rebuild from scratch. He allows Ecco to handle the recruitment process and it doesn't take her long to gather a sizable horde of Gotham scum. Thieves, arsonists, street fighters, drug pushers, money hustlers, gun activists, and desperate addicts... They make up quite the team but as long as they can follow simple orders, they belong to Jeremiah Valeska now. 

There is an urgent rush to claim territories all throughout the city. Jeremiah stakes his claim at the North part of Gotham, in a low-end district that had little value to anyone. There's an old theater, a pharmacy, a couple of liquor stores, and a multitude of empty, foreclosed buildings. The area is a strategic move because not many are aware of the underground subway tunnels. Jeremiah has access to the city schematics, including structures that were made decades ago, when Gotham was a sprout and hardly a city at all. The tunnels costed too much in repairs and upkeep, they were closed down in the seventies and have remained idle since then.

With the destruction of the bridges and Ra's al Ghul's disappearance, Jeremiah is left to his own devices. Initially he wanted to destroy and level Gotham City but thanks to interference, probably the GCPD, that plan was foiled. Now, in the wake of destruction, Jeremiah decides to resume the cause and create an empty canvas for him to build on. The only downside is the lack of supplies and the constant raids. Jeremiah would have to move quickly if he wanted to salvage anything at the Wayne Enterprises Research Facility. 

They move out at 10:00pm, leaving behind a dozen men or so to guard the old theater, Jeremiah's current hideout.

Ecco drives a black van through the empty streets with Jeremiah seated in the passenger side.

A truck follows closely. 

It's not safe in the streets, so the vehicles move swiftly. 

Upon arrival, Jeremiah instructs the men to park the truck in the back by the loading zone.

Meanwhile, Ecco parks the van at the side entrance to the building. She turns the vehicle off and checks both firearms before tucking them inside her jacket in the shoulder holsters.

Jeremiah does the exact same thing.

Ecco reached into the back seat and retrieved two assault rifles. She held out an AK-47 to Jeremiah while keeping the Bushmaster Carbon 14 M4 Carbine rifle for herself, it's smaller and lighter for her to use.

Not saying a word, Jeremiah takes the deadly weapon and steps out of the vehicle.

Ecco follows suit and the pair climb up the steps and enter the dark, foreboding building.

With no power, the electrical locks are disengaged and the security system is off. However, Jeremiah has an inkling they are not the only ones there. He motions for Ecco to check the stairwell.

Ecco disappears down a narrow corridor.

Jeremiah raised his firearm and proceeded forward. He nears the lab area and notices all the doors are open. It takes him a fraction of a second to catch the movement to his right. By then it's too late for him to react.

A gun-is it a gun?- is pointed at Jeremiah. 

Standing a few feet away is a man encased in a silver chrome body suit with a blue hue of light surrounding his neck and chest. A set of red tinted goggles conceals his icy blue eyes but the frown on his face indicates he's not thrilled about Jeremiah's presence. "Drop your weapon. Now."

Jeremiah recognizes the man but only by reputation. Victor Fries, a notorious criminal from Indian Hill with the capability to freeze people to death in an instant. Not wanting to die just yet, he listens and lowers the assault rifle to the floor. He sets it down and stands back up with his arms in the air. "My apologies for the rude intrusion. I was not aware Oswald owned this establishment."

"I'm not here on Penguin's behalf." 

"Ah, you're here to collect supplies for yourself, as am I."

"You look like him." Victor noted. 

"I beg your pardon?" Jeremiah's eyebrows furrowed.

"Jerome Valeska, you two look alike." 

Jeremiah huffed an irritated breath, "I suppose there is some resemblance... How about we split what's in the lab? Half for you and half for me. We can keep things professional and avoid an unsightly mess." Jeremiah offered. 

"How about I take it all and you walk away?" Victor steps closer, his weapon pointed at pale man's head. "And leave the AK-47"

"Hmm....tempting offer. I would be a fool not to take it." Jeremiah turned around slowly with his hands suspended in the air still. "Very well, I bid you adieu." Careful steps take the man down the hall.

Victor watches and when he's comfortable with the distance, he lowers his weapon. 

Without warning Ecco jumped Victor from behind.

Surprised, Victor dropped his weapon and he reached up to grab whoever was clinging to his back.

Ecco jabs a syringe needle into Victor's exposed neck. She injected a dark purple liquid and let go, just as Victor grabbed her by the arms. The blonde woman is tossed across the floor and she grunts in pain when her body collides into a desk table.

Victor yanks the syringe out of his neck and he makes a grab for his weapon. 

"Victor!" A female voice calls out.

Victor pauses and he looks up to see a familiar woman standing across the room. "N-Nora?" He gasped at the sight.

The woman raises her hands as though beckoning for her husband. "Victor....it hurts. I'm in pain. Please....Please save me....IT HURTS! OH MY GOD IT HURTS!!!" She screams.

"NORA!" Victor scrambles to his feet and he rushes to his wife.

Nora is shrieking like a banshee and she takes off running in the opposite direction. 

"WAIT! PLEASE I CAN SAVE YOU!" Victor shouts at the top of his lungs. He disappears down the hallway in pursuit of his wife.

Ecco grips the sides of the desk table and hoists herself up to her feet.

"Are you okay?" Jeremiah inquired. He leaned down and picked up his assault rifle from the floor.

"I'll live." Ecco says in flat voice. If she's in pain, she doesn't show it. 

"Good." Jeremiah heard Victor's distraught cries in the distance. "It would seem our purchase of Mr. Crane's fear toxin was a beneficial after all."

"Yes, it certainly was." Ecco goes back into professional mode and she radios the men outside.

It takes less then an hour to empty out the lab, Jeremiah only took what he needed to start constructing bombs. He found barrels of liquid nitroglycerin and took those, among other explosive chemicals. Once he was satisfied with the raid, he ordered his men to return back to base and VERY carefully unload everything into the basement. 

Ecco starts the van but she notices Jeremiah is hovering outside the passenger door. The window rolls down and Ecco addresses Jeremiah, "Are you going to walk back?"

Jeremiah shrugged. "I was considering it. I could use the fresh air to clear my head." 

"Okay. Call me if you need anything?"

Jeremiah nods.

Ecco rolls the windows up and she steers the van back onto the main road.

Absinthe green eyes watch the van until it disappears from sight. Jeremiah adjusted his purple Panama hat and shoves gloved hands into the pockets of his jacket; a vintage styled trench coat that's also in a shade of purple. The pale man takes to walking the forlorn streets by himself. Fresh air...what a joke. The air reeks of smoke and rotting decay. While passing overturned cars and destroyed homes, Jeremiah witnesses death's touch first hand. A frozen limb here, a burnt carcass there, and the more fortunate ones who were shot in the head, litter the streets. To Jeremiah it's a piece of art and he finds comfort in the bleak environment. 

_You look like him._

Jeremiah grimaces at the words. He doesn't like it when others compare him to his dead sibling. Jerome was insane and reckless, a true sociopath who couldn't control his impulses. "I am nothing like my brother" he mumbles to himself. Still, the anger festers in his chest and spreads throughout his veins, causing his blood to boil. He contemplates going back to the lab and killing Victor Fries himself, assuming the fear toxin didn't drive him to suicide. 

A twig snaps.

In one, fluid, motion, Jeremiah had his gun drawn and pointed towards the source of the sound. 

Somebody ducked behind a trash can, concealed by the shadows of an empty gas station. 

Jeremiah is honestly relieved for the distraction. He can tuck his anger and troubled thoughts aside for now and focus on executing the unfortunate soul that crossed the pale man's path. 

Silence.

Jeremiah steps closer to the shadows.

"Stay away."

The voice sounds young and somewhat weary. This piques Jeremiah's interest but he doesn't lower the gun. "It's far too dangerous for young boys to be out in the streets. You could get killed."

"I'm not a boy," the voice says.

Cautious, Jeremiah continues to move closer "For a girl it's even worse."

"I'm not a girl."

The silly game is amusing and Jeremiah plays along. "I see, am I to believe you're NOT human? At all?"

"Yes."

Tickled by the answer, Jeremiah can't wipe the grin off his face. This was probably the most entertainment he experienced since blowing up the bridges, right before Gotham was plunged into an era of darkness. "Are you...an alien?"

The mystery individual starts to inch away as Jeremiah draws nearer. "No."

"Hmm, could you provide a clue? A minuscule detail? That's usually how these guessing games go." Jeremiah is a just a few feet away and he keeps the gun pointed at the shadowy figure. 

A pause. 

Jeremiah takes those final steps forward and now the only thing separating him and the other is a metal trashcan. 

"Indian Hill."

The pale man stiffens.

"What did you say?" Jeremiah isn't sure if he heard correctly.

Hesitation, followed by a soft whisper, "Indian Hill. That's where I came from."

Jeremiah lowered his firearm to his side. He knew for a fact that whoever was hiding in the shadows had no weapons of any kind, or they would've attacked by now. "Who am I talking to?"

"I don't have a name."

"A nickname?"

"No...but I was given a number."

"And that is?"

"I don't remember."

Jeremiah sighed impatiently, the game had grown stale. "Step out from behind the trashcan."

No movement. 

"You have a gun."

Jeremiah holstered the gun and raised two gloved hands. "Not anymore, now show yourself. I'm not going to hurt you," he adds, although that might not be entirely true. 

Silence.

Slow-moving, uncertain steps move around the trashcan and out from beneath the shadows of the building. 

Jeremiah's eyes widen in disbelief. 

The moonlight and stars provide enough light to reveal who was in hiding. 

It's a young male with long, raven hair but it's messy and unkempt. The structured, sharp jawline is every bit as familiar as the line of the forehead, nose and mouth. Prominent cheekbones protrude from a sunken in face with heavy circles underneath both eyes.

Those blue eyes are unmistakable.

 Crimson lips part, "Bruce?"


	2. Chapter 2

**I saw your face in a past life**

  
**I'm ready to move on**

  
**In a futuristic casket**

  
**And you're still alive**

 

"I'm not Bruce."

The game has taken an expected turn -wait- is it a game? Or does Bruce expect Jeremiah to believe in fabricated details?

"Hmm... I'm not sure what psychoactive drugs you've decided to experiment with Bruce, but this-" Jeremiah gestures to Bruce's pitiable appearance, "-is disappointing. I worked hard to turn Gotham City into a glorious dystopia for you."

"Why?"

"Call it a gift, for my very best friend."

"I have no friends."

Jeremiah tutted. "Ouch, I'm hurt." The monotone words suggest otherwise. "Even so, that doesn't dissuade me. You haven't yet reached the peak of your transformation. Perhaps...all you need is a little encouragement." A gun is removed from one of the shoulder holsters and it points right at Bruce's chest.

Unblinking, Bruce stares into impatient emerald orbs. 

The barrel of the gun is hardly an inch away, a close range shot would be fatal.

"You can't hurt me."

"How much do you want to wager I can?"

Silence. 

Jeremiah cocks the gun and slips an index finger around the trigger. "You're not going to run? No defense tactics? If I recall, you have a powerful right hook."

Blue eyes reflect indifference, they're dull, too flat. "What's the point? I'm going to die."

"We all die."

Silence. 

The lack of fear - any emotion for that matter - has Jeremiah's mind working overtime. The cogs wind fast and rough, attempting to come up with a logical explanation to explain Bruce's appearance and behavior. 

Curious impulse guides Jeremiah's hand and he raises the gun to Bruce's arm before firing.

The stillness of the night shatters.

Singular and fiery hot, the lead bullet pierces Bruce's upper right arm. Fabric and flesh squish together around the bullet as it lodged against muscle and bone. A red flower blooms across the dingy sweater Bruce is dawning. 

Eyelids flutter but it appears Bruce was only startled by the deafening sound so close to his ears. 

Jeremiah observes.

Bruce stares, unfazed by the bullet wound. 

The gun lowers. 

"You're either a bad shot or...not very good at killing people."

 Ruby red lips twitch in annoyance. "Maybe, but I know how to finish what I've started. How would you feel if I tracked down your little bitch of a girlfriend and put a bullet in her head this time?"

"Selina...you mean Selina. I haven't seen her in a long time." His voice hardens. "It wouldn't matter at this point, she wants me dead anyway."

The admission perplexes Jeremiah. Did Bruce casually brush off a death threat pertaining to Selina Kyle? It's difficult to wrap his mind around it...but Bruce Wayne would NEVER take a threat lightly, especially when it involved his loved ones. Pointless, useless attachments that left people weak and vulnerable. No, this wasn't the emotionally driven teenager Jeremiah encountered over a month ago. "You are not Bruce Wayne...are you?"

A slight head shake. 

The gun is holstered. "You're going to explain more, after we get you stitched up."

"We?"

Jeremiah retrieves his cell phone. "Yes, I'll have my consort pick us up."

"I don't know you..." Bruce's eyes are strange. They're lifeless, but bright like a frightened animal. He backs away slowly, sinking into shadow once more.

"Stop."

Bruce halts.

With the phone against his right ear, Jeremiah extended his left hand. "Jeremiah Valeska."

A flash of recognition but Bruce doesn't comment. He reached out and tentatively took the gloved hand in his. He squeezed lightly and retracted his hand afterwards.

Waiting for Ecco to pick up, Jeremiah addresses the Bruce doppelganger. "What would you prefer I call you?"

"I don't know."

"For the sake of convenience, may I call you Bruce?"

One nod. "If that's what you want."

Ecco answers her phone. "Hello?"

Jeremiah gives Ecco the street address and hangs up afterward.

"You don't have to help me." Bruce glances down at his bleeding arm. "I can't feel it."

Jeremiah studied Bruce's expression and he doesn't see a hint of deceit, in fact, he doesn't believe the -impostor? -pretender? -twin?- charlatan?- is capable of lying. "What are you?"

Eyes flicker away from Jeremiah and to the night sky. 

Jeremiah waits.

There's an intensity to his gaze as though he's trying to imprint the image inside his mind. "I was made in a lab, in Indian Hill."

"You're an experiment?"

"A clone. Subject 5...." Eyebrows and nose furrow like something is stolen. "I don't remember the rest of the numbers. We all had numbers."

Jeremiah is about to inquire about 'we' when he notices a black van pulling up to the curb. "Ah, we'll have to continue this conversation at home."

"Home." A foreign concept that leaves a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. 

Moving to the van, Jeremiah opened up the side door. "Get in."

Bruce doesn't move.

Another impatient sigh, "You're not safe out here. Please, get in."

"Nowhere's safe."

"Are you afraid?"

"No," he says, as though offended by the question, as though the answer should be obvious. "You can't hurt me. No one can."

"Then get in." Jeremiah motions a gloved hand to the first row of seats.

Bruce looks around, weighing options that are not there. He looks over his shoulder at nothing, and shrugs. He climbs into the van. 

A soft click follow as the van door slides shut. Jeremiah gets inside the vehicle and they are off. 

"You live in a theater building?"

"Yes, for now. It closed down some years ago but it's in relatively good condition. Required minimal upkeep on my part."

Jeremiah and Bruce are currently seated on a classic chesterfield sofa in the shade of hunter green. They are on the 2nd floor, in a space that was once a large dressing room for performers to dress and rehearse. Jeremiah had it gutted out and he turned it into a bedroom space, complete with it's own personal bathroom, reading nook, a miniature bar and fridge, and a 110-inch Ultra HDTV flat screen mounted to the wall right across from the bed. The sofa was purely for aesthetic purposes, Jeremiah appreciated older designs whether it was furniture, buildings, clothes, etc. Everything in the room reflects earth tones. The walls have been repainted to spiced cedar, a brown-ish hue with a hint of maroon. The carpets are faded green and blue, with intricate designs portraying Greek mythology. The king-size bed has a mahogany bed frame, mirroring the even darker mahogany drapes and curtains. Overall, Jeremiah designed his personal space to reflect comfort and tranquility. It's an escape from his chaotic everyday life and seeing as how he doesn't venture out during the day, the earth tones remind him of a brief history where he lived underneath the sun and blue skies. Not anymore, Jeremiah snuffed out the sun and sky a long time ago. 

Bruce is shirtless while Jeremiah works on his injured arm.

A round-tip tweezers, courtesy of Ecco, plunges into the small wound on Bruce's right arm. There's a sickening squelch, followed by spurts of blood.

Not a peep leaves Bruce's mouth. He sits perfect and still, with his gaze on the giant T.V. screen across the room. It's on a random news station, non-local.

"Tell me about your time at Indian Hill." Jeremiah says while searching for the bullet through blood and muscle tissue. 

"There's not much to tell. I don't have very many memories except for mobility and cognitive tests, and surgeries." 

"Is that how you got that scar on your back? From surgery?" Jeremiah noticed a scar between Bruce's shoulder blades, long and straight, extending down his lower back.

"Yes, through a procedure called hematopoietic stem cell transplantation. The bone marrow they used was treated with Bruce Wayne's DNA. They wanted to turn me into 'him'. I had more scars on my body, including the face, but they got rid of them, somehow, except for the ones they thought nobody would see."

Jeremiah feels a small, hard object with the tip of the tweezers. He adjust his angle with his wrist and clamped down on the lead bullet. With careful precision, the bullet is removed and Jeremiah tosses both it, and the bloody tweezers, into a bowl of rubbing alcohol. He ripped off the blue latex gloves and tossed them into nearby trash bin. "When you say 'they', are you referring to Hugo Strange and his medical staff?" Jeremiah picks up a clean gauze pad and starts dabbing up the blood around the open wound. 

"Yes and no. I believe he was working for someone else... A woman named Kathryn and a man called Talon. I had a feeling they were part of a bigger organization that had control over Indian Hill."

There's probably some truth to that as Jeremiah heard a number of bizarre rumors surrounding Indian Hill. After going over the area with an alcohol wipe, Jeremiah slips on a new pair of gloves. He picks up a threaded needle and pours rubbing alcohol over it for sterilization, then, the needle finds it's way to Bruce's skin. "How old are you?"

"How old is Bruce Wayne?"

"No, I'm asking how old YOU are." The needle slips into skin and muscle tissue with ease. A firm knot is tied and then Jeremiah proceeds to do a tight stitching pattern because of how small the wound is. 

Eyebrows knit together at the clarification. "The first memory I had.... It was almost 2 years ago. I don't know if I was ever alive before that, or if I was grown in a test tube, but I would have to say...I'm at least 2 years of age."

"Hmm, if that's the case, you're the most attractive infant I've ever come across."

Bruce turns his upper body and head to face Jeremiah, blue eyes reflecting inquisitiveness.  

Due to the sudden movement, the needle slips and stabs the shoulder. 

"I'm sorry." Jeremiah pulled the needle out.

"For what?"

Oh, right, no pain.

"Never mind. Please sit still, I'm nearly done."

"Okay." Bruce resumes his position and stares back at the T.V. 

Within minutes the task is completed. Jeremiah ties the thread into a firm knot against the skin before cutting it. He tossed the needle in the bowl with the tweezers, then peeled off the gloves. He took another alcohol wipe and gently wiped the area clean, removing streaks of dry and fresh blood. "It was a compliment, albeit not a very good one."

"What's a compliment?." Bruce inquires.

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. "A simple definition would be a polite expression of praise or admiration."

"Oh." Bruce mulls over the explanation. 

"I believe a hot bath is in order." 

Bruce nods and he stands up from the sofa. He picked up his shirt and jacket and started putting them on.

"I was referring to you." Jeremiah said in amusement. 

"You were?" Bruce paused. 

"May I cut your hair?"

The question puzzles Bruce. He held his jacket in his arms and stares back, though, indifferent and placid. If he's offended, or worried, or concerned, it doesn't show. Nothing shows. "You want to make me look like him."

"I do, does it bother you?"

"I'm not Bruce Wayne."

"I'm aware, but does my wanting to cut your hair bother you, at all?"

Bruce shrugs. "It's what I was made for I guess. You can cut it." 

Jeremiah and Bruce are standing in the bathroom, positioned in front of the sink and mirror. There's a white towel draped around Bruce's shoulders while a pair of hair clippers move through Bruce's long hair. 

The soft hum of the electrical clippers calms Bruce, that and the gentle stroking fingers that push the hair aside. He stared at his image, watching tufts of hair fall from his head. With each passing minute, he begins to resemble Bruce Wayne, more and more. At least, Jeremiah knows what he's doing and he's clearly skilled at cutting hair. It's a far better job compared to when Bruce cut his hair off with scissors at the Wayne manor. 

A pale hand brushes Bruce's forehead and then the back of his neck. Satisfied, the hair clippers turn off and Jeremiah studies his work in the mirror's reflection. There's an undeniable increase in his heart rate but it's minimal, and immediately discarded. He's proud of his handiwork, the fake Bruce resembles the real Bruce, down to a perfect T. "I'll run you a hot bath and by the time you're done, Ecco should be here with the food I ordered."

"Thank you, for being kind to me." There's sincerity in his voice, genuine sincerity. 

"Of course, Bruce." Jeremiah lifted his hand and he lovingly - almost possessively - stroked his hand through Bruce's hair. "I'll be right back." Jeremiah left the bathroom and strode across the floor. He approached a big mahogany dresser and reached inside to retrieve a silk robe. It would be too large for Bruce but it was the best Jeremiah could do until tomorrow morning. He promptly returned to the bathroom to see Bruce trying to clean up the mess on the floor. "Leave it, I can clean it up later." The robe is set down on the counter and Jeremiah turns, kneels over the porcelain tub, and turns the hot water on. He made sure the plug was in place and as the tub filled, he pointed to a shelf of assorted shampoos and soaps. "Please help yourself. Whatever smells good to you, use it." 

Bruce looks over to where Jeremiah is pointing. "Okay."

Jeremiah got up and stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He goes over to the sofa and picks up the mess of alcohol wipes, gauze pads, and other instruments.

Submerged in hot water, Bruce lets out a pleasured groan. He doesn't remember the last time he took a hot bath or shower... Usually he washed off in cold water and sometimes he was without shampoo or soap. This was pure heaven for the travel weary clone - experiment - teenager? All of the above. Bruce closed his eyes and soaked peacefully in the tub. Before the water could cool off, he washed himself up with a scented bar of soap - something earthy and pleasant- followed by ginger infused shampoo. Once he was done, he drained the water and stepped out of the tub. He dried himself first and slipped on the robe Jeremiah left him. 

It's way too big. The robe hangs loosely off his frame and he has to wrap the ties around his waist twice to keep it in place. However, Bruce can't complain about the smooth, silky material against his skin. It feels wonderful and he can't help but rub his hands over the robe. Bruce opens up the bathroom door and steps out. The aroma of food greets him and his stomach gave a loud, urgent growl.

A folding table has been set up and it's filled with several boxes of food. 

Jeremiah is already opening each box and without glancing up, addresses the other male. "I'm not sure what you're preference is so I ordered a variety. There's French cuisine, Italian, and Japanese - you should really try the sushi, it's authentic." Jeremiah straightened his posture and turned around. 

There it goes again.

An increase in his heart rate. 

Emerald eyes move up and down Bruce's figure, which is terribly outlined by the baggy robe but... Certain areas are exposed like his chest and shoulders. It probably wasn't intentional on Bruce's part but he was presenting himself in such a seductive manner. Jeremiah clenches and unclenches his hands, imagining what it would be like to rip that robe off of Bruce's naked body.  

"What's sushi?"

"Hm?" The vivid imagery fades away. "Sushi is raw fish and depending on what flavors you enjoy, some include eel, crab, shrimp, and an assortment of vegetables."

"Oh." The end of his nose wrinkles at the description.

That was the first discernible emotion and reaction he saw on Bruce. It's too adorable and elicits a light laugh. "More for me! Now, come and pick something out. I'm sure you'll find something to your liking."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend." Bruce approached the table and peered over the food options.

"No apologies are necessary, you didn't offend." Jeremiah picked up the box with assorted sushi and california rolls. 

A recognizable shape prompts Bruce to reach out and raise the chosen box. It's a hamburger with steak fries.

Jeremiah smiled slightly at Bruce's choice, of course, typical teenager, going for what he knows. 

They eat in silence but it's a comfortable silence. Bruce is sitting on the bed while Jeremiah is seated on the sofa. As much as Jeremiah wants to poke and prod Bruce about his origin story, he decides to table his questions for now. 

When both are finished, Jeremiah cleans off the table and places the remainder of the food inside the mini-fridge. 

"Are you sure you want to give up your bed? I can seep on the couch, I really don't mind."

Jeremiah shook his head, "It's fine. I would prefer you take the bed, it's a little too soft for my liking." It's a lie.

Bruce frowns.

Jeremiah walked over to the bed and he stood in front of the younger male. He reached out and cupped Bruce's face. "Don't argue with me on this one. Just accept a nice gesture without question."

"The last person who was nice to me tried to kill me."

Jeremiah senses something in Bruce's voice. An undertone of hurt and bitterness, barely detectable. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Bruce's head. 

Bruce is silent. 

Jeremiah nuzzled his nose against soft raven hair, inhaling the sweet scent. He whispered, "You're starting to act like the real Bruce Wayne with your stubbornness. I have no desire to kill you... and I'm happy you chose the ginger shampoo, it's my favorite." Hands lower, he steps back, and then turns on his heel. 

"Where are you going?" Bruce asks, almost too loudly, almost too urgently. 

Nearing the door, Jeremiah paused and looked over his shoulder. "I need to grab more blankets and an extra pillow. Don't worry your pretty little head Bruce, I'll be right back."

"Oh, okay." Relief spreads throughout his chest. Bruce lifts the blankets and crawls underneath them.

The door opens and Jeremiah steps out.

Fighting the urge to close his eyes, Bruce watches the door like a hawk. A tired hawk. A baby hawk. Maybe more of a sparrow or a finch... 

Eyelids grow heavier and heavier. 

Through blurred vision, the door opens and Bruce make's out a familiar pale figure.

By the time Jeremiah tosses the extra bed linens on the couch, Bruce is fast asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muh heart, muh soul..... There's a lot of dialogue in this one, hope nobody minds. 
> 
> Ooooh Jeremiah is already enjoying his new pet >:3
> 
> More cute, fluffy moments to come~


	3. Chapter 3

 

**To work it out**

  
**I'll dig a hole**

  
**To crawl inside**

  
**And make my home**

 

Jeremiah Valeska doesn't sleep and if he does, it's only minutes at a time. His mind is constantly going like one of those 24-hour gas stations with their neon flickering lights illuminating the evening streets. Ironically enough there isn't a single lit gas station throughout the city. It's been one month of pure dark bliss but that's not to say law enforcement hasn't been working tirelessly to restore both power and order. It's heartwarming to think anyone would have hope in such a dire situation and bless the GCPD for attempting to apprehend criminals. How many cops have died now? Jeremiah's men killed three police officials already, God knows how many Penguin and Barbara murdered.

There were other players in the game but they were minor. The Hatter and Jonathan Crane were slumming around in the hidden parts of Gotham; whatever those two had planned was unimportant to Jeremiah, as long as they stayed out of the way. Then there was Hugo Stange, walled up in some mansion in the high-end district, apparently he was up to his old tricks and was offering financial compensation for fresh corpses. It was odd, but not overly worrying. Some redheaded broad took over on the local lepidopterarium, with several greenhouses encompassing exotic plants from around the world. The two that seemed most adamant on public destruction was Mr. Freeze and Firefly. They were the comedic due, like Sharkboy and Lavagirl, but with an insatiable blood lust. A couple of other weirdos emerged during the blackout but they were pawns, not worth seeking out or recalling names.

The pale man found himself next to Bruce's side. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and watching the other male sleep. People always looked different when they slept... When awake, people are conscious about their facial expressions and do their best to control each reaction. All of that control, however, was nonexistent when sleeping. Jeremiah could read some details on a person's face and their body language when they're out. Ecco, for example, worried quite often, more so then she cared to admit. He would watch her face pinch up in her sleep and sometimes she randomly kicked or punched, like she was fighting someone off. That was one of the reasons why he didn't share a bed with her anymore, that and ever since his brother's death, Jeremiah hadn't been able to sleep at all. He could blame it on the fear gas, which had psychological effects and not just physical ones. His sense of taste faded and he no longer felt hunger; he ate out of necessity to keep his body alive and going. Then there was insomnia, whether or not it was having a negative effect on his body remained to be unseen.

  
Bruce, on the other hand, had a peaceful expression on his face, as though sleep was the most precious thing to him. Jeremiah placed his left hand on Bruce's cheekbone and gently stroked the soft skin. Oh, he could see why Jerome had an obsession with the boy. For an experimental clone, Bruce had all the features of a growing teenager, on the verge of becoming a man. His features were still a little soft but those cheekbones and jawline were structured beautifully. Jeremiah admired the slight curve in his nose and the dark, prominent eyebrows. That hair....when it was damp, it curled up and Jeremiah had to fight the urge to grab Bruce and kiss him right then and there.

A kiss.

Jeremiah's eyes wandered down to pillowy pink lips and hovered. He recalled having met Bruce Wayne for the first time back at the underground labyrinth. How brave the boy was and he was adamant about stopping Jerome Valeska. If it wasn't for young Mr. Wayne, Jeremiah would've said no to participating in the capture of his sociopath brother. He would've remained in hiding and turned a blind eye to Jerome's murderous rampage. But there was something about Bruce.... God, those blue eyes were stunning and hypnotic, hell, Bruce could've asked him to jump off a skyscraper and Jeremiah would've happily obliged. He admired Bruce Wayne's courage and he wasn't half bad to look at. Scratch that. He was drop dead gorgeous, the _adonis_ of Gotham City. Did he lust after Bruce? Perhaps and maybe that's why he allowed Bruce to put him in a dangerous situation that could've ended his life. It was worth it in the end... Jeremiah was going to be a catalyst for the new and improved Bruce Wayne.

Yes, Bruce needed to transform just as Jeremiah did and when it does finally happen, Gotham will crumble and give birth to two of it's most powerful, influential men. Their destinies would change Gotham forever. When will it happen? Jeremiah was growing bored of waiting and he had yet to encounter the real Bruce Wayne.

How fortunate he was to come across an exact replica of the teenager he was dying to see. But this Bruce was empty....No, not empty, he was blank. If 'they' (whoever they were) could mold the clone into a temporary Bruce Wayne, then so could Jeremiah. Of course, he would make tweaks here and there, provide details and instruction on how the clone should conduct himself. He would create a new version of Bruce Wayne, a _better_ version, for himself.

Jeremiah leaned over and nosed Bruce's neck, inhaling and exhaling slowly. His skin smelled sweet and earthy, it was scented with aloe vera and a light floral undertone, honey suckle maybe. The scent fills Jeremiah with an undeniable heat that he's almost tempted to pull the blanket down and explore Bruce's body. He resists, barely, and settles for a kiss against the boy's cheekbone. Jeremiah quietly gets up from the bed and goes into the bathroom to take care of the bulge inside his pants.

Blue eyes open up to a room that is unfamiliar. Blankets are thrown to the side but before Bruce can bolt from the bed, a voice addresses him.

"Ahem, are you late for a meeting?"

Bruce looked across the room to see Jeremiah standing with something folded over his left arm and a pair of black oxfords in the other. 

"I...no... I don't think so." Eyebrows furrow as though he doesn't recognize Jeremiah.

Jeremiah waits, he can tell Bruce is struggling to work out the details from last night.

"You picked me up on the streets."

"I did."

"You shot me in the arm...."

"....Yes, I did that too."

"And then you fixed me, let me take a bath, and fed me food." It's foggy and muddled but there's enough memory to calm Bruce's nerves. He relaxed and shifted to the end of the bed with his feet on the floor. "You're Jeremiah Valeska?"

"That I am." Jeremiah nods and he approaches the bed. "I've got some new clothing here for you, I tried my best to guess your size." He laid down a black plastic bag with a zipper and set the shoes on top.

Bruce eyed the items hesitantly.

"Unless you'd rather wear those old rags from yesterday?" Jeremiah raised an eyebrow.

"I would-"

"Too late, I already burned them." Jeremiah interrupted. "Take the clothes and change in the bathroom before that robe falls off."

Bruce blinked and he looked down. The robe had fallen off his upper body completely and barely clung to his waist. "Okay." He grabbed both items from the bed and stood.

Jeremiah unabashedly stared at Bruce's exposed chest. He could only imagine how sweet he would taste or what kind of sound he would make if Jeremiah were to bite him on the neck.

Unfazed by the staring, Bruce made his way into the bathroom and gently closed the door behind him. He stripped off the robe, unzipped the bag, and proceeded to dress himself. He'd worn a number of suits back when he was impersonating Bruce Wayne, dressing in that style was 2nd nature. The suit itself was a Windsor base sharkskin, three-piece suit in charcoal grey. Bruce adjusted the navy blue tie and tucked it in underneath the shirt and jacket. He studied his appearance in the mirror and lightly trailed his fingers over the suit jacket. It was expensive, probably one of the Tim Ford brands Bruce had worn before. The last article of clothing he slipped on was the black oxfords, the shoe size fit him perfectly. "Hm." He was satisfied with his appearance and stepped out of the bathroom.

Emerald eyes flickered towards the opening door. "Ah I wasn't too presumptuous on the size of your suit. How does it fit?"

"It's comfortable, thank you." Bruce glanced around, the bed was already made and the silk robe was gone.

"Will you have breakfast with me?"

One nod. "Yes."

The main door opens and Jeremiah motioned for Bruce to step out first.

Bruce moved across the room and stepped out into the hallway.

Jeremiah approached Bruce's side and he put his right hand against the small of Bruce's back. "Is this okay?"

A nod.

Jeremiah guides the younger male through the hallway, down a staircase, and into a kitchen area. They walk past an older woman who appears to be cooking, there's also a few men in the corner playing card games. They leave that room and enter a more quiet area with a fireplace, circular oak table, and shelves filled with books. There's random art decor hanging on the walls, most of which Greek or Roman related.

"Here." Jeremiah steps around Bruce and pulls out a chair for him.

Approaching the table, Bruce mumbled a low 'thanks' before sitting down.

"Your welcome." Jeremiah pushed the chair in after Bruce was seated. Then he went around the table and took his seat. "Elaine said breakfast will be ready in ten minutes. In the meantime, do you prefer coffee or tea?"

"Coffee."

"Are you saying that because it's Bruce Wayne's choice of drink or yours?"

There's a short pause, "Uh...I guess it's Bruce Wayne's choice, I prefer tea and honey."

"Then tea and honey you shall have. Elaine?" Jeremiah barely raised his voice by a fraction.

The older woman, dawning a full black dress and tight bun of grey hair, stepped out of the kitchen. "Yes Mr. Valeska?"

"Tea and honey for Bruce and coffee for myself, thank you."

Elaine nodded and she went back into the kitchen.

"Did you know I took Bruce Wayne's place?" Bruce inquired.

"No, I wasn't aware." Jeremiah took off his hat and placed it on the tabletop. "You said they wanted to turn you into _him_. I can only assume you took over on Bruce Wayne's life or attempted to."

"I did replace him, for a short time."

"Why?"

"So he could fulfill his higher purpose and I, mine."

Elaine entered the room, carrying a silver tray with both coffee and tea. She set a cup of hot water down in front of Bruce, including a box of assorted tea and a bottle of honey. She walked around the table and placed a cup of coffee in front of Jeremiah with a bowl of plastic cups containing sweetened creamer. 

"Thank you Elaine." Jeremiah emptied one creamer into the coffee. "Bruce can you clarify?"

Bruce chewed on his bottom lip as he contemplated an answer. "I...can't, Kathryn was vague with the details. She informed me Bruce had to go away for awhile, training and such. Kathryn mentioned purifying Gotham City through impurity... I overheard her and Talon discussing a virus. When I was in Bruce's place, I tried to warn Selina and ended up pushing her out a building window." 

Jeremiah can see Bruce's expression change, it's subtle, but he appears remorseful for his actions. "Ah, don't fret about it. Cats have nine lives after all, you've only eliminated one." He didn't mention his own encounter with Selina, resulting in his shooting her. "This virus, I recall reading about it. Awful news coverage, thought it was purely over exaggeration."

Bruce picked up one of the tea bags and ripped the plastic cover off. "No, it was real. Citizens displayed psychopathic behaviors due to the infection."

"And you're immune to this virus?" Jeremiah stirred the coffee up, placed the spoon down, and took a drink.

"I think so. Nothing happened to me while I was hiding in the streets." Bruce placed the teabag into the cup and waited. 

"Hm..." Jeremiah tried to work out what little details were provided. Somebody had an agenda involving Bruce Wayne, no surprise there. "You've not heard from this woman, Kathryn, or any of her associates?"

"No." 

This was good news, at least for Jeremiah. If nobody was looking for the Bruce doppelganger then he could keep him and worry less about thief. "I see, then you'll stay with me."

The tea bag is removed and honey is added to the cup. Bruce focused on the cup as he stirred the contents up. "Why do you want me to stay?"

"Where else would you go?" 

Something flashed in Bruce's eyes. Was it indignation? 

Bruce set the spoon down and looked at Jeremiah. "Don't answer my question with another question. The entire time I've been here I've been completely honest. You should do the same."

Jeremiah is shocked by the reprimand but he doesn't show it, besides the subtle raise of both eyebrows. He studied Bruce's expression but he can't read anything. After a long pause he cleared his throat, "You're absolutely right Bruce, my apologies. I want you stay with me because you remind me of Bruce Wayne and....I have an interest in him."

"What kind of interest?" 

"A physical one." Jeremiah took another drink of coffee and added, "A sexual one."

This time, Bruce was surprised. He picked up his cup with both hands and stared down at the tabletop. "I don't believe Bruce Wayne has ever been with Selina, or anyone else, in _that_ way."

"Have you?"

"No." Bruce blew on the hot drink.

"Rest assured, if I were to act on my impulses I would've done so last night." 

Bruce stared at Jeremiah. 

Jeremiah smiled slightly, "Are you afraid of me?"

"No, I'm not." 

"I've killed people."

"Who hasn't?"

"Have you?"

"Attempted, but no."

"And you're fine staying with a murderer who has sexual interest in you?"

"Like you said, where else would I go?" Bruce shrugged and took a drink of his tea.

Jeremiah is baffled, a feat that isn't easy to accomplish. He's captivated with the male across from him. Synthetic or not, Bruce was the most fascinating character he'd ever met. Enticed by the forward responses, Jeremiah asked: "What would you say if I were to kiss you?"

Bruce lowered his cup, "I would say...I might disappoint."

"Oh? You have a forked tongue or something? Rancid breath? Missing teeth?"

The comments elicit a partial smile.

Jeremiah's heart fluttered at the sight. 

"No, none of the above. I've only ever kissed one person and I might've been terrible at it? I don't know, I didn't get to ask." Bruce's face reflects timid modesty.

"Ah, well it is one of those things that gets better with practice. Maybe we can work on it later?" Jeremiah had a feeling Bruce was referring to Selina Kyle, that was the only female he associated with, as far as Jeremiah knew. Or maybe it was Alfred? It wouldn't surprise him if Alfred had a daddy kink and sought younger boys, after all the two were unusually close. Maybe Gordon had a go at Bruce... No, Gordon was into psychotic women and was far too virtuous. 

The partial smile grew but it faded when Elaine entered the room.

'Good fucking timing Elaine', Jeremiah thought. It almost looked like Bruce was going to respond to the flirtatious remark but Elaine's sudden entrance distracted him. 

The older woman set down a porcelain plate in front of Bruce and then a second in front Jeremiah.

Bruce mumbled a low 'Thank you', but this time Jeremiah kept quiet. 

Elaine went back into the kitchen. 

Jeremiah picked up a cloth napkin and unrolled it, "Have you tried Eggs Benedict before?"

"Yes, I think Alfred made this one morning." Bruce picked up his napkin and unrolled the cutlery from it. 

"My variation is better. I would've cooked it myself had I not gone out to fetch you a suit this morning."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I'll prepare a meal for you next time." Jeremiah pointed to Bruce's plate. "Instead of Canadian bacon, I use smoked salmon and sliced cherry tomatoes. I don't particularly like English muffins, so I swapped it out for toasted olive bread and homemade hollandaise sauce. The salad on the side is baby spinach, it pairs well with salmon." 

"It's very colorful." Bruce commented. Just as he cut his fork into the poached eggs, he paused. "Jeremiah....can I ask you something?"

Jeremiah nodded. "Yes, you can."

Bruce lowered his fork and looked the other male in the eyes with something close to seriousness on his face. "The way I am.... _what_ I am to Bruce Wayne, is Jerome the same with you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Jeremiah's grip unconsciously tightened around the fork.

"Jerome...Jerome Valeska. He was at Indian Hill too but I never met him...Kathryn gave me a thorough history on Bruce Wayne, including potential enemies. She showed me pictures of Jerome and detailed the two incidents he tried to kill him. Once at a charity event and the second time as at a circus. I didn't see the resemblance at first but when you said Valeska...it all started coming back to me." Bruce's gaze wandered down to Jeremiah's hand, which was visibly shaking. "Do you hate Jerome?"

Jeremiah let go of the fork and placed his hands on his lap, hidden from sight. "Regarding your first question, no, Jerome isn't a clone.... He's my twin brother. He's organic, for the most part, and yes he did try to murder Bruce Wayne a few times. Jerome had an unhealthy obsession with Bruce but then again, he had A LOT of unhealthy obsessions. He was the very definition of chaos... When we were children, Jerome's self-destructive nature started to inadvertently effect my life. You're asking if I hate him? Absolutely. He made my life a living hell and I had to flee my mother and my home, all for the sake of living past my 15th birthday."

Bruce is quiet. He lets the words sink in and tries to understand Jeremiah's disdain for Jerome. While Bruce is leaning over the table, blood starts dripping from his nose and it lands on the food on his plate.

"Bruce?" Jeremiah's voice raises.

"Hm?" Bruce looked up to meet Jeremiah's gaze. "What?" As soon as he said that, he became aware of the warm liquid gushing down his nose, mouth, and chin. He reached up and pushed his hand against his nose, eyes darting around for the cloth napkin. 

Picking up his own napkin, Jeremiah rose from his seat and he went around the table to kneel down by Bruce's side. "Move your hand."

Bruce lowered his head.

Jeremiah placed his left hand behind Bruce's head, "Lean your head back Bruce." He gently pushed the napkin against Bruce's nose to soak up the blood.

With support against his head, Bruce leaned back and tilted his chin upward.

"It's just a nosebleed, nothing to worry about. Do they happen often?"

"As of late, yes. They weren't quite as bad last year." 

Jeremiah nodded and he continued to apply pressure to Bruce's nose. Emerald eyes wandered from Bruce's nose to his mouth, it was stained red from the blood.

Blood. Bruce Wayne's blood.

No, not Bruce Wayne...but close enough.

Jeremiah can smell the iron in the air and it physically stirred him, he needed to taste it -HAD to taste it. Jeremiah pulled the napkin away and he suddenly leaned up and kissed Bruce on his lips. 

Startled, Bruce jumps in his seat.

It's brief, but long enough for Jeremiah to latch onto Bruce's bottom lip and suck all the blood off. He pulls away afterwards and replaces the napkin over Bruce's nose. 

Bruce tilts his head and watches Jeremiah closely. Blue eyes lock onto the red stains around Jeremiah's mouth. That's his blood, Jeremiah tasted _his_ blood. "Does it....taste funny?"

Jeremiah smiled, an almost full smile. "No, it tastes like normal blood."

"Why did you want to taste it?"

Jeremiah considered the words. "Hm, I suppose I was curious, I have a kink for blood, and maybe...." Jeremiah flicked his tongue out and licked the remaining blood from the corner of his lips. "Maybe I wanted a part of you inside me." 

The answer leaves Bruce with a bemused expression. He doesn't understand why anyone in their right mind would want any part of him. He's broken...Nobody likes broken. He searches Jeremiah's eyes for any hint of deceit, surely he was joking around? 

Somebody knocks on the wall to announce their presence.

Jeremiah and Bruce look up.

Ecco is standing there with her phone against her right ear. "I'm sorry to disturb your breakfast Jeremiah but we've got an issue with one of the raids."

"I'll deal with that in a moment. Be a dear and fetch Elaine? Tell her to bring warm water, a clean wash cloth, and tissue."

"On it." Ecco leaves the room to go get Elaine.

"At least you didn't get any blood on your suit." Jeremiah commented.

"I got it on my food....it's ruined." 

"You can have mine."

"But-"

"Accept the nice gesture Bruce and say thank you." 

"Thank you."

Elaine enters the dining area, holding a tray full of wash cloths, a box of Kleenex, and a bow of warm water.

Ecco returns to the kitchen.

Jeremiah stands up and allows Elaine to attend to Bruce. Jeremiah picked up the soiled food and bloody napkin before exiting the dining area. As soon as he was in the kitchen, he dumped the food and tossed the napkin. He set the plate in the sink and washed his hands thoroughly with hot water and soap, it was a good thing he left his gloves off during the meal....blood was difficult to get out of leather. 

Ecco cleared her throat, "Sir." She handed him the cell phone.

Jeremiah took the phone and asked his men what happened. 

During a firearm raid, Jeremiah's men were ambushed and several men lost their lives amidst gunfire. The rumor was, Oswald Cobblepot's men were running interference on the raid and they attacked Jeremiah's group when they were done emptying the building. 

Jeremiah ended the call. "Lazy cowards... It's one thing to steal another man's rightful property but the death causalities are not acceptable." He gave the phone back to Ecco. "I think it's time I utilize Wayne Industries." 

Elaine walked back into the kitchen. "He's all cleaned up Mr. Valeska, no more bloody nose."

"Thank you Elaine, is he eating?"

"Yes, he's asked for another cup of tea." 

"Good. Ecco wait here a moment." Jeremiah didn't wait for a response before walking back into the other room. He was pleased to see Bruce devouring his plate of food, "How does it compare to Alfred's recipe?"

Bruce looked up and swallowed his food before speaking: "It's amazing! I didn't think I would like spinach and tomatoes but it's perfect with salmon."

Jeremiah tries not to appear too smug about the praise. "I'm happy you like it." He stood next to Bruce and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I've got some business to attend to, I might be gone for most of the day. You have full access to the entire building and I'll be sure Elaine cooks up lunch for you, oh, except the basement. I'm remodeling it as we speak and for safety reasons, I advise you to stay out of there. If you're bored, there's T.V. in my room and you can help yourself to my personal collection of books."

"Bored....what's that?" Bruce asked. 

"Hmm, bored is when you're feeling weary because you're unoccupied or lack interest in your current activity. It's common among teenagers."

"Oh...Okay." Bruce wasn't sure if he'd ever experienced that feeling before. 

Jeremiah gave the other male's shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning away to leave.

Bruce reached out and grabbed Jeremiah by his hand.

The older man paused and looked over his shoulder at Bruce. "Yes? What is it?"

Silence. 

With an unusually fast heart rate, Bruce searches frantically for the words to say. They slipped his mind as soon as Jeremiah looked at him. What was it again? He was going to ask for something. Something personal. 

Panic. 

Bruce let go of Jeremiah's hand and looked down at the floor.

Now that was a curious gesture, one that intrigued Jeremiah. It was almost as if he could tell what Bruce was asking for, even though he was far too shy to ask for it himself. "Bruce, look at me."

Bruce looked up.

Jeremiah moved close and he cupped Bruce's chin with one hand. 

A question, displayed by a pause in Jeremiah's actions.

Consent, given by the trembling breath that escaped Bruce's mouth.

The distance closes as Jeremiah bent over and pressed his lips to Bruce's own. 

Tense, always tense. How could anyone get use to that? Well, maybe with practice like Jeremiah said.... Bruce sighed into the kiss.

Jeremiah doesn't know what the sigh means but he does feel Bruce's lips twitch and form into a smile. 

"Don't worry your pretty little head Bruce, I'll be back." Jeremiah whispered against the kiss. If it wasn't for the urgent matter at hand, he would've showed Bruce, _really_ showed him how to kiss properly. He pulled away and turned around on his heel. He left the room, while Bruce returned to eating his breakfast. 


	4. Chapter 4

**I saw your face in a film tonight**

  
**I wanted to touch the screen**

  
**I'll never be cruel again**

 

 

As Jeremiah instructed, Bruce avoided the basement and explored the remainder of the building. He came across old storage closets, trunks full of vintage costumes, and a unique room full of mannequins and wigs. It would appear somebody was cleaning the rooms and keeping everything tidy, Bruce didn't see any dust on the lonely theater items. Besides Elaine, Bruce didn't come across anybody else... It was quiet, peaceful even. He didn't recall having a sense of calm tranquility other then the evenings he spent with Alfred Pennyworth. He missed the butler, he missed the late night chess games and hot tea. Jeremiah seemed like a nice person... Yet, Bruce couldn't shake this strange feeling that Jeremiah wanted _something_ from him.

The way a man might look at a woman.

The way Bruce Wayne stared at Selina Kyle, there was a longing desire in those eyes.

With Jeremiah, however, it was far more carnal. Bruce wasn't scared of Jeremiah or what the older man could do to him. Bruce's days were numbered and he was thankful for a roof over his head and the warmth the building provided. At least he wouldn't die in some dirty alleyway, freezing and starving to death. The theater was a better alternative.

After an hour of exploration, Bruce decided to pick up a book. He found an old hard-cover with the title 'Ultimate Book of Jokes: The Essential Collection of More Than 1,500 Jokes'. He came across the book in one of the antique trunks and took it with him, returning to Jeremiah's bedroom. He removed his shoes and unbuttoned the suit jacket, draping it over the bed afterwards. He took to the reading nook located in front of the glass window and started on the first few pages.

Unbeknownst to Bruce, Jeremiah and Ecco are in the basement floor where the chemicals are stored, courtesy of Wayne Industries. Chemical engineering wasn't Jeremiah's forte but he knew enough to manufacture a few homemade explosives. Seeing as how Oswald Cobblepot costed him a few men, the pale man saw it fit to return the favor.

Ecco arranged for transport while Jeremiah hovered outside underneath a shaded tree. Sunlight was no friend to Jeremiah Valeska, he took great care in protecting his skin from the harmful UV rays. Always fully dressed with generous amounts of sunscreen, Jeremiah took every measure possible to safeguard his body. The effects of Jerome's laughing gas had more side effects then he cared to admit but he made the most of it. Besides long-sleeved jackets and suits, Jeremiah always wore a wide-brimmed hat and often paired it with dark sunglasses; not the cheap kind from a gas station but the medically prescribed ones that darkened when in contact with sunlight. Although he hadn't seen Bruce since breakfast, Jeremiah had Elaine check on the boy. Apparently Bruce as holed up in Jeremiah's sleeping quarters and was reading a book.

What a perfect sight that must've been. He was tempted to go check on the younger male, had it not been for his main priority. Jeremiah Valeska is a very, straightforward man who focuses on the completion of his tasks, one-by-one. He didn't entertain distractions, as charming as they may be. Jeremiah had a cigarette balanced in his right hand and a cell phone in the other. He checked the time and when 2:00pm hit, he sent a text a message. It was a random code of numbers, not significant in any way, other then to trigger the bomb.

The earth rumbled underneath his feet.

Gotham City shook with the powerful explosion.

Buildings that were nearby crumbled underneath the sheer force.

Glass rained all over the area, a blank, desolate area. Most of he city had been evacuated and only Gotham delinquents would be effected by the bomb. That's exactly what Jeremiah was counting on.

A wide grin danced across crimson lips. The black lens hid the delight in his eyes but it did capture the reflection of red and orange flames, climbing their way up several buildings. If anyone had been close enough, the chemicals would've melted their eyes right out of the sockets. "How unfortunate." Jeremiah commented and he dropped the cigarette onto the ground. He snuffed it out with the back of his heel and counted down, "5......4......3.....2...."

Jeremiah's cell phone started ringing.

"Right on time Ozzie." Jeremiah slid a gloved thumb across the screen to answer the call. He put it near his right ear but stayed a few inches away, just as the other male started shouting around.

"YOU TACTLESS HEATHEN!"

Jeremiah's smile grew. "Oswald, what a pleasant surprise."

"Don't speak to me like I'm some 2nd rate charlatan!" Oswald hissed, "I know it was you... The explosion has Wayne Industries written all over it and if I recall correctly, you frequented such an establishment the other night."

"Ah, indeed I did." Jeremiah reached up and adjusted the sunglasses. "You would know."

There's a pause on the other line.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Jeremiah rolled his eyes and gave an irritated sigh. "Really Oswald? This is uncultured, even for you."

"I can assure you I have no idea what you're referring to Mr. Valeska. Now, kindly inform me as to why you set a bomb off in my district?"

The certainty in Oswald's voice dissuades Jeremiah and his smile faltered. "I was under the impression your men attacked my group during a firearms robbery. Several men died in my own domain."

"I'm very sorry to hear about your heartfelt travesty but I gave no such order. My men are confined to the North part of the city... They KNOW better then to cross into your territory." 

Jeremiah and Oswald are silent.

"-Barbara" Oswald started.

-Kean." Jeremiah finished.

"Tabitha and Barbara would certainly pull a stunt like this...." Oswald was beginning to work himself up into an angry tantrum, "They think they can start a war on my behalf?! I'll slit their throats before I let it happen!" 

"Calm down." Jeremiah rolled his eyes; he found Oswald's emotional outbursts off-putting. "How do I know you're not the one setting Barbara Kean up?"

Oswald guffawed at the remark but when Jeremiah's lack of response reached his ears, he quickly changed his tune. "That's not the case Mr. Valeska but I can understand how you would draw up that conclusion. Allow me to compensate for your loss, I'll provide firearms."

"What would be the point in that?" 

"Consider it a gesture of good will. I'm not too eager to lose any more of my men. I'll correct Barbara's mistake and you can go back to blowing up Gotham, far from my area." Oswald said.

Jeremiah mulls the offer over in his head, his crew was running low on firearms... "Okay but I want you to personally deliver them."

"I beg your pardon?" Oswald is in disbelief.

"6:00pm, you'll join me and my ward for dinner and I won't kill you. Consider it a gesture of good will."

"Mr. Valeska I-"

Jeremiah ended the call. He dropped the cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out with the back of his heel. Barbara Kean would have to be dealt with but he respected her clever tactics in trying to instigate tension between him and Oswald Cobblepot. He knew if the bird showed up then he was telling the truth; Oswald wouldn't go that far to cover up a lie. The pale man decided to go back inside the building and check on Bruce. 

The bedroom door clicked open.

Blue eyes flickered up from the book on his lap, "Good afternoon." 

_Perfection._

That's what Jeremiah thought when his gaze landed on Bruce. He noticed the young male had moved over to the sofa and his legs were pulled up to his chest, with a book balanced on either knee. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, something Jeremiah didn't approve of but on Bruce it was terribly adorable. The tie was loosened and the top few buttons near his collar were undone, giving Jeremiah an unobstructed view of that sharp collarbone. "Good afternoon Bruce, is it too warm in here?" He stepped into the room and approached the couch.

Bruce closed the book and shrugged, "Yes but that's because I was sitting underneath the sun in front of the window for the past few hours. I finally drew the curtain shut and moved over here." The raven haired male notices the way Jeremiah is staring at his chest. He lowered his feet to the floor and began buttoning up, "Sorry for the sloppy appearance."

"Let me." Jeremiah sat down next to Bruce and shooed his hands away.

Bruce lowered his hands and shifted in his seat, turning to face Jeremiah. 

Jeremiah's gloved fingers moved over the small buttons, tucking each one back into place. Next, he gripped the tie and tightened it around Bruce's neck, adjusting it to the appropriate length and centering it. 

"Did everything go well?" Bruce inquired.

"Hm?" Jeremiah is distracted. He leaned over and began unrolling Bruce's left sleeve, pressing a hand down against his arm to smooth out creases. "Oh, yes, everything is taken care of. We'll be having dinner with a potential business client this evening....assuming he'd rather attend a dinner instead of his own funeral."

Bruce lifted his arm for Jeremiah to make it easier to fix his sleeve. He tried to wrap his mind around Jeremiah's words... A funeral? Did that mean Jeremiah would kill the potential business partner for his refusal to attend a dinner? There was more to it, Bruce knew it, but the comment has his thoughts roll back to the book he was reading earlier. He cleared his throat, "Did you hear about the man who was accidentally buried alive?"

Jeremiah quirked an eyebrow as he worked on the 2nd sleeve. "What's that?"

Bruce grinned, "It was a grave mistake."

Jeremiah stopped moving his hands and he lifted his gaze to meet Bruce's blue orbs. "......A _grave_ mistake?" Truth be told, Jeremiah wouldn't know a joke if it hit him upside the head. It was his sibling, Jerome, who was a fanatic about jokes and pranks. In fact, Jeremiah was certain the last person who told him a joke was Jerome Valeska. 

The reaction isn't what Bruce expected, so he tried another. "Why do they bury Germans 20 feet down when they die, instead of the usual 6 feet?"

An amused smile tugged on the corners of Jeremiah's lips, "Tell me."

Bruce shrugged casually, "Because deep down, Germans are ok."

The joke was morbid but Bruce's delivery was on point... and disgustingly cute. 

Jeremiah laughed and it wasn't one of those cruel, sadistic laughs. The sound that pushed past his lips was foreign to Jeremiah, a distant memory of the person he used to be. 

Bruce gave a cat-like grin, obviously pleased with Jeremiah's response. "I figured you might like that one." 

Jeremiah's stomach hurt just a bit, but he was overcome with a pleasant, joyous feeling. Once his laughter died down, he reached up and wiped his eyes clear. "I haven't laughed like that in years.... Thank you Bruce." 

Bruce beamed with pride.

Jeremiah suddenly attacked Bruce with a kiss.

Bruce tensed up.

Jeremiah notices this and he reached up, gently cupping the boy's face, and stroking fingers across his cheekbones.

Bruce relaxed under the touch. He tilted his head at a slight angle and moved his lips in sync with Jeremiah's own. He went as far as flicking his tongue out, trailing it along the other male's bottom lip, just as Jeremiah did earlier during breakfast.

Jeremiah smiled into the kiss and whispered, "You're getting better."

"Practice makes perfect." Bruce said softly.

Something stirs inside Jeremiah's chest, an undeniable feeling of....butterflies? Whatever it was, it radiated in his stomach and seeped into the remainder of his body. Clone or not, Bruce was flawless....an ideal paragon that Jeremiah wanted to keep for himself. He found everything about the raven haired male delightful and pleasant. Besides the physical attraction, Jeremiah was drawn to the boy's wit and innocent charm. He pulled away from the kiss and smiled mischievously, "I have an idea for this evenings entertainment..."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "What idea is that?" 

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald Cobblepot was nervous, indicated by his stiff body posture. 

"Relax Oswald, I said I wouldn't kill you and I'm a man of my word." Jeremiah said.

The men are seated at the dining table and waiting patiently on Elaine to finish up with dinner. There's a glass of wine at either end with a plate of salad, beautifully plated with sesame seeds and a sweet vinaigrette. 

"Yes I believe you, however, you didn't speak for anyone else." Oswald took a few bites of the salad, it was delicious in spite of not being overly hungry; he didn't touch the wine.

"Not a wine connoisseur?" Jeremiah sipped at his own drink.

"Mother disliked the taste as did I." Oswald put his fork down and wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, "I'm partial to distilled spirits."

"Say no more." Jeremiah set his glass down and he glanced towards the kitchen. "Bruce, please bring Mr. Cobblepot his drink of choice." 

Oswald blinks, recognizing the name. He turned to see a well suited man carrying a tray with several decanters.

Once the raven haired male stepped into the light of the chandalier above, Oswald gasped. 

"Bruce Wayne?!" Oswald stared at the young male in incredulity. 

Bruce smiled and filled a glass with ice. "Mr. Cobblepot, it's been quite some time. How are you?" 

"I-I well, you-what are you-how did you-" Oswald spluttered nonsensical strings of words. 

Jeremiah observed in silent amusement. 

Bruce lifted a decanter and poured clear liquid into the glass of ice. He set it down and picked up the glass of vodka, "Your drink Mr. Cobblepot." 

Oswald stared at the drink hovering before him and then he looked back up at Bruce's face, eyebrows furrowing with suspicion. "You....you're not _real_." 

The remark almost makes Jeremiah snicker. He remained placid as he spoke, "Oh but he _is_ real, just as real as you and I Oswald. Now please, don't be rude to my ward. Thank him for preparing you a drink."

"Ward?!" Oswald's attention snapped back to Jeremiah. " _This_ is the ward you mentioned? Bruce Wayne? How the hell is it that possible?" 

"Simple. I sought Jeremiah Valeska out and we reconciled our differences. While Alfred is off attending to personal matters, I've decided to remain in Mr. Valeska's care." Bruce set the drink down next to Oswald's plate.

The explanation is too simple, too farfetched for Oswald to buy into. "Thank you..." He mumbled, taking the glass and chugging several shots of vodka. He grimaced at the bitter taste and coughed lightly. He kept his drink in hand and glanced around, taking note there were no other seats. Was Bruce not going to join them for dinner?

Following Oswald's gaze, Jeremiah smirked. "Bruce, you may be seated."

Bruce nodded and he walked to the other end of the table, towards Jeremiah.

Oswald watched.

Bruce squeezed in between Jeremiah's legs and he sat down on the other male's right leg, positioned over his thigh. 

Jeremiah's right arm slid around Bruce's waist and his hand would come to rest on Bruce's hip.

The glass slipped between Oswald's fingers and crashed onto the floor, shattering on impact. 

Jeremiah tutted, "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Look what you've done Oswald. Elaine!"

Elaine peeked out of the kitchen, "Yes Mr. Valeska?"

"Mr. Cobblepot dropped his glass and made a mess. Be a dear and clean it up?" Jeremiah said.

"Yes, right away Mr. Valeska." Elaine grabbed a broom and mop. She moved to the table and cleaned up the mess on the floor, taking care to sweep up all the glass shards first.

"Are you okay Mr. Cobblepot?" Bruce inquired, he leaned back against Jeremiah's chest.

".....Y-yes." Oswald could barely get the word out. 

Elaine went back into the kitchen to dispose of the glass and wash her hands clean. She called out to Jeremiah, "The food is ready. Shall I start plating?"

"Please do." Jeremiah said, loud enough for Elaine to hear. Jeremiah's hand wandered up from Bruce's hip and gently patted the boy's stomach. "I'm sure Bruce is famished, what of you Oswald? I trust you didn't fill up on anything prior to your arrival?"

"No, I mean yes- no, I didn't eat anything all day." Oswald can't take his eyes off the two. He was skeptical about the whole situation but he couldn't figure out how Jeremiah had Bruce wrapped around his finger. Hypnotism? Shock therapy? Was Alfred taken hostage and Bruce was forced to play a certain role for the deranged madman? Could be the latter. 

"Good, Elaine's culinary skills are superb." Jeremiah's hand resumed it's spot on Bruce's hip.

Bruce sat quietly with his hands in his lap and his head against Jeremiah's chest. He appeared comfortable and unfazed by Jeremiah's touch or close proximity. 

Elaine entered the dining area again and this time she wheeled in a metal cart. She stopped by Oswald's side first and lifted a metal cover to reveal a plate full of decadent French cuisine. She set the plate down in front of Oswald and removed his salad plate. The house maid walked over to Jeremiah's side and repeated the same thing. "Bon appetit." 

"Thank you Elaine." Jeremiah nodded.

Elaine disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Have you tried coq au vin and ratatouille?" Jeremiah inquired, while unrolling his cutlery.

"Can't say I've had the pleasure, but it smells amazing." Indeed, Oswald felt his mouth watering up at the sight of food.

"Then this will be an uplifting experience for you. We have tarte tatin for dessert, should you have room for any." Jeremiah used a fork to pick up a piece of eggplant and zucchini. 

Oswald retrieves his own fork but it came to his attention there was only one plate in front of Jeremiah.... 

Before Oswald can process the meaning behind the single plate, he sees Jeremiah raise the fork to Bruce's mouth.

Bruce obediently parted his lips and engulfed the food, a delighted hum sounding afterwards. "Mmm, that's really good." 

"I told you it would be, ah, you have a little..." Jeremiah set the fork down and picked up his napkin. He dabbed the edge against Bruce's chin, removing some of the sauce that dribbled from the vegetables. 

Witnessing Jeremiah Valeska feed and dote on Bruce Wayne was as unappetizing as it gets.

Oswald set his fork down and cleared his throat, "My men unloaded the van inside the basement as requested. I believe it's time I departed-"

"Aww, Ozzy... You haven't touched your food. Wouldn't want to hurt Elaine's feelings would you?" Jeremiah cocked an eyebrow.

"It would also be rude." Bruce chimed in.

Oswald's eyes narrowed on Bruce and Jeremiah. How _insufferable_.... "Very well. My men can stand to wait another half hour." Oswald picked up is fork and averted his gaze. He concentrated on the chicken dish first and took a few bites.

Bruce draped both arms around Jeremiah's neck, while the pale man continued to feed him at a reasonable rate, occasionally stopping to wipe any mess from the boy's face. Bruce would sometimes lean over and whisper something under his breath, causing Jeremiah to chuckle and nod. Other times, it was Jeremiah whispering in Bruce's ear, making the boy blush from time to time and laugh out loud.

It was sickening. Oswald wanted out. 

"He looks like he's about to throw up." Bruce mumbled, low enough for only Jeremiah to hear.

Jeremiah grinned slightly, "He very well might. Good work Bruce."

Bruce smiled happily, "Thank you for suggesting this, it's fun." 

Jeremiah nodded and he raised the fork towards Bruce's mouth.

Bruce shook his head.

"Are you okay Bruce?" Jeremiah set the fork down.

Oswald paused.

"Yes, just a little tired. May I be excused?" Bruce lowered his arms to his sides.

Oswald sighed in relief, he could probably leave now and not appear like a rude guest. He took one more bit of the roasted vegetables, which were actually quite good.

"Of course." Jeremiah nodded.

Bruce made an attempt to stand.

"Bruce, aren't you forgetting something?" Jeremiah said.

Bruce sat back down with a nod. "Yes, I'm sorry." The teenager reached up and cupped Jeremiah's pale face. He leaned in and planted a soft kiss against ruby lips.

Oswald choked on his food.

Bruce and Jeremiah nearly lose it, but the pair manage to keep their amusement under control. 

"It's okay Bruce, I'm sure you'll remember next time." Jeremiah ran his hand though Bruce's hair, "Enjoy your rest."

"Thank you." Bruce nodded and he stood up from the older man's lap. He looked over at Oswald's red face, "Have a good evening Mr. Cobblepot." Bruce didn't wait for a response. He left the dining room and made his way to the stairs. He was feeling tired and debated on taking a short nap.

Oswald coughed loudly while pounding a closed first against his chest. It took a few desperate attempts before the vegetable piece is dislodged from his throat and he spits it out onto the tabletop.

Jeremiah smirks from his seat, "Honestly Oswald, that's a bit dramatic for a small, intimate gesture."

Oswald pants heavily, hand gripping at his throat. He looked at Jeremiah and frowned, clearly not amused. "I think I'll take my leave now."

"Alright, I'll walk you out." Jeremiah stood. 

Oswald and Jeremiah stand outside the building, waiting for Oswald's men to bring the van out from the basement. Jeremiah thanks Oswald for the crates of firearms and ammo, he also promises to return the favor and make a few bombs for the other. They discuss Barbara Kean briefly and what they should do about her... But they can't decide on how the blonde should meet her demise. Oswald avoids asking about Bruce, whatever Jeremiah had planned for the billionaire... he wanted nothing to do with his nefarious intentions.They table the discussion for now as the van rounded a corner and appeared from behind the building. 

Jeremiah watched he van roll away down the road and once out of sight, he went back inside. The pale man made his way upstairs and approached his bedroom. He entered but immediately noticed Bruce was nowhere in sight. He saw the black oxford shoes on the floor and Bruce's suit jacket was draped over the couch....

The bathroom door is closed, light illuminated from the bottom.

"Bruce?" Jeremiah sensed something was wrong. He went over to the door and tried the handle.

It was locked.

"I'm okay, I'll be out in a second." Bruce said from the other side.

Jeremiah can hear panic in Bruce's voice and this worries him. "Bruce open the door right now."

There's a shuffle of movement and items fall down against the floor. "Hang on!" Bruce shouted.

Without a second thought, Jeremiah stepped back and he kicked the bathroom door in.

Bruce gasped in surprise.

Jeremiah stepped over the fallen door and that's when he saw the pool of blood.

Bruce was on his hands and knees, with blood stained towels underneath each hand. He looked up at Jeremiah as blood poured profusely from his nose. He whimpered then, almost fearful. "It won't stop." 

Jeremiah called Elaine up for help.

When she arrived, Elaine found Bruce in Jeremiah's arms, seated on a bloody bathroom floor. She didn't bother to inquire about the bathroom door but she did race back downstairs to fetch her purse. When she returned, she was holding a clear glass bottle with a white powder substance inside. She knelt down by the two and took a clean end of a towel, pouring a generous amount of white powder on it.

Jeremiah had Bruce's head tilted back and he made the boy pinch the bridge of his nose. That didn't stop the blood flow but it reduced it somewhat. "What is that?" He asked, referring to the mystery powder.

"Dried yarrow, it will stop the bleeding." Elaine said and she leaned over, dabbing the end of the towel against Bruce's right nostril. "Inhale." 

Bruce hesitated.

Jeremiah stroked Bruce's cheekbone, "Go ahead. We can trust her." 

Bruce inhaled and he made a face when he tasted something bitter on his tongue.

Elaine repeated the same thing to Bruce's other nostril. "Again."

Bruce inhaled a 2nd time and he coughed, grimacing from the awful taste.

"Okay, lean your head up." Elaine capped the glass bottle and watched.

Bruce slowly lifted his head and to his surprise, the bleeding stopped entirely.

Jeremiah was in awe. "Elaine....thank you."

"No problem Mr. Valeska. Should I clean up the bathroom now?" 

"No, I'll take care of it." Jeremiah said and he gently looped his arm around Bruce's waist. "Let's get you out of these clothes."

 

* * *

 

 

Jeremiah cleaned up the floor first and then disinfected everything with bleach. He also removed the fallen bathroom door and left it out in the hallway; that was an easy fix but he wasn't concerned about it right now. 

Bruce took a hot bath and Jeremiah gave him privacy by reading quietly on the opposite of the room. 

The silk robe Jeremiah provided was a better fit on Bruce, still a little large but less frumpy this time. 

Jeremiah changed out of his dirty clothes and put on a similar robe, his was dark purple whereas Bruce's was light blue. 

They find themselves in bed, laying side-by-side and staring at each other.

Jeremiah runs his left hand through Bruce's damp curls. "How do you feel?"

"Still tired....but okay." Bruce smiled at the gentle touch.

"Your nose bleeds....that was the worst one yet?"

Bruce nods.

"We need to get you to a doctor and have you evaluated. We're fortunate Elaine was here but had she not been....." Jeremiah averted his gaze, almost scowling at the thought. 

Bruce pressed his right hand against Jeremiah's cheekbone, he tried to offer up a reassuring smile. "Doctors can't fix what's wrong with me."

Jeremiah stared into Bruce's eyes, the sad smile on the boy's face was heart wrenching. "How about a mad scientist then? I mean, I'm sure he has a doctorate in something but.... Hugo Strange should be able to help." 

Bruce can see the stubbornness in Jeremiah, he wasn't going to let this one go. Not wanting to discuss the matter any further, Bruce changed the topic. "Can you explain something to me?"

Jeremiah's hand rested on the side of Bruce's neck, "Anything."

"Why do you look at me.... like _that_." 

Confusion spread across Jeremiah's face, "I'm not sure I understand the question."

Bruce chewed on his bottom lip as he tried to think of a better way to phrase it. "The way Bruce Wayne looks at Selina Kyle.... You look at me like that and sometimes....it makes my heart rush. I wan't you to explain why... why _you_ would look at _me_ like that."

Jeremiah blinked and he was quiet for awhile, going over possible answers he could give the boy.

Bruce waited patiently, fingers dancing along the pale cheekbone.

Not wanting to confuse Bruce or potentially lie to him, Jeremiah settled on a different kind of answer. "It's....difficult to explain."

This time it was Bruce's turn to display a curious, somewhat confused expression. Normally Jeremiah was so upfront about answering his questions... 

Bruce sat up.

Jeremiah doesn't move. 

A hand finds it's way to Jeremiah's shoulder and pressure is applied.

Jeremiah lays down on his back without question.

Bruce climbed over the older male and hovered in place, hands and knees resting on either side. "Show me then." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess my cold soul needed extra fluff and cuteness xD


	5. Chapter 5

**I saw your face in a past life**

  
**I'm ready to move on**

  
**In a futuristic casket**

 

The words almost unleash the monster within the pale man but he manages to keep it at bay, barely. A hand reaches up and brushes damp curly bangs from the younger male's face. "Bruce, that's not a very good idea."

It's a vague phrase that fills Bruce with uncertainty but his curiosity drives him to push the other for answers. "Why?" 

Sighing, Jeremiah rests his hands against Bruce's hips. "It...never works out. Once I show my _real_ nature, well, I can't guarantee your safety or comfort." He averted his gaze and looked towards the antique grandfather clock on the opposite of the room. "It's getting late, perhaps it'd be best-"

"Look at me." Bruce cupped Jeremiah's chin and turned him away from the clock.

The two are locked in each other's gaze once more.

"I'm looking, Bruce." Jeremiah isn't one to be surprised easily, yet, the night was still young and Bruce continued to enrapture him.

Blue orbs study Jeremiah's face.

If it were possible, the intensity of Bruce's gaze would've heated Jeremiah's face. In the entirety of his life, he'd never come across someone with unwavering focus and attention to detail like Bruce. Only a few days spent together and the boy was already mirroring Jeremiah, picking up on subtle facial cues and adjustments in tone and body. A fast learner and a sharp mind. Jeremiah was at his wits as far as maintaining a calm demeanor. 

Movement snaps Jeremiah out of his thoughts.

Bruce lowered his hips and sat down on top of Jeremiah's waist. He cupped the older man's face with both hands and pulled him up a little. Bruce let his mouth hover over those crimson lips, breathing out hot breath before speaking: " _Show me._ I can handle it." 

And, almost as if to get his point across, Bruce rolled his hips forward.

Jeremiah's entire body stiffened up from the hip action. Neither he or Bruce are wearing anything besides the silk robes and they don't cover much of anything past their waists. 

He feels _everything_. 

Fingernails dig into Bruce's hips and in one fluid motion, Jeremiah rolled Bruce over onto his back. Jeremiah hooked his thumbs under Bruce's robe and tore it apart, nearly ripping the belt that was holding it together; he yanked that piece of useless fabric aside until all of Bruce is exposed, the robe hardly covered him now.

A startled gasp left Bruce's lips but he makes no attempt to stop Jeremiah. His eyes flickered to Jeremiah's robe and then to his face.

Understanding the silent request, Jeremiah untied his robe and let it fall off his pale body.

Bruce has little time to gaze at the perfect man's body before his hips are seized and he's pulled lower onto the bed. His heart races when he hears a spitting sound and he manages to lift his head a little, seeing Jeremiah grab his own cock and slick it up with saliva. 

"Jeremiah-"

Without acknowledging Bruce, Jeremiah shifted closer and pressed his left knee underneath Bruce's right leg, repeating the same thing on the other side. 

Bruce's mind is working overtime and he can't help the panicky feeling creeping into his chest. He didn't believe it when Jeremiah mentioned a nature of another kind but there it was in all it's glory. Bruce doesn't recognize the feral, cold look in the pale man's eyes; this is a _completely_ different person.

Unrestrained and starving, Jeremiah takes hold of Bruce's leg while guiding the tip of his cock to Bruce's entrance.

Naturally Bruce tensed up and he tried to squeeze his legs together. "Jeremiah wait!"

An impatient growl left Jeremiah's lips. He moved his legs forward, lifting Bruce's legs and hips from the bed. He grabbed Bruce's rear and pushed the cheeks apart, exposing a taut hole. 

"J-Jere-"

Jeremiah pushed the head in, grunting and having to work it in past tight muscles.

Bruce cries out and his body starts violently shaking from the forceful intrusion. He clawed at Jeremiah's chest, attempting to push him off. "S-stop!"

Jeremiah reached up and wrapped his hands around Bruce's wrists. Then, he leaned over the distraught male and pinned his wrists down against the bed, on either side of Bruce's head. He turned to whisper in Bruce's left ear, "I forgot to mention...this _will_ hurt before it feels good." A hip thrust followed.

Tears prick Bruce's eyes, he can feel Jeremiah's length inching it's way inside. "IT HURTS! STOP!!!" His voice is shrill, desperate and full of agony.

As much as he enjoys Bruce's resistance, Jeremiah wanted the younger male to focus on anything else besides shouting around. Jeremiah let go of one of Bruce's wrists and he covered the boy's mouth to silence his voice. He pressed a kiss to Bruce's ear, speaking in that eerily calm, monotone voice of his. "I know... I did warn you Bruce." Once Bruce was fully sheathed on his cock, Jeremiah paused. He could very well tear into Bruce and make the experience that much more excruciating... But he had enough - heart?- or something to show mercy. 

Bruce's whole body trembled and he's crying from how much pain he's in. Any and all sounds of discomfort are suppressed.

Jeremiah kissed Bruce's neck, "I'm sorry Bruce..." Another kiss, lower this time. "I couldn't help myself...I never can." Ruby red lips kiss Bruce's shoulder. "I hope you can forgive me." He reaches Bruce's chest and kisses the warm skin.

Bruce can feel Jeremiah dancing syllabus across his skin but he doesn't comprehend all of them. His panicked breathing gradually slowed down, skin tingling wherever Jeremiah placed a kiss. His body slacks and he's no longer struggling against the older male.

When he noticed Bruce calmed down, somewhat, he removed his hand from the other's mouth. Jeremiah leaned up and pressed another kiss against the boy's ear, whispering in a voice that is surprisingly gentle and soft: "Bruce~" 

That voice does something to Bruce. He doesn't feel anything negative towards Jeremiah. What he does feel is the inexplicable sense of being wanted, desired, precious in another's eyes. He wanted that, _badly_. He longed for someone to look at him the way Jeremiah does and if this was how he chose to express himself, then Bruce accepted it. The good and bad, the pain and comfort, he accepted it all. He raised his free hand and brushed fingers through Jeremiah's green hair, "Again. Please, Jeremiah." He kept his voice quiet, like leaves falling to the earth.

Leaves fall apart and shrivel up, becoming black and lifeless; Bruce doesn't want to think about it.

Jeremiah pulled away from his ear and touched his lips to his, letting Bruce swallow his words whole. "Bruce....Bruce.....Bruce, I need you~" He slowly pulled his hips back and pushed back inside the boy.

They shifted like an earthquake, like something natural and terrible, coming together so there was no space between them.

“Jeremiah,” Bruce breathed again. He whimpered, pressing forward. “Thank you."

It was just two simple words but Jeremiah feels himself shudder. It becomes a feedback loop, their names falling off each other's lips in breathy moans. Jeremiah let go of Bruce's other wrist and he wrapped his arms around his body, hugging him close.

Bruce manages to rest his hands on Jeremiah's lower back, unsure if that was the appropriate place but there are no complaints. “Jeremiah,” answered with "Bruce", among a combination of words that drip from Bruce's mouth—“Thank you,” “Please,” “Don’t stop,” “More,” “More,” “More.”

Jeremiah can feel himself becoming unraveled in his breath and he wondered if that's what the birds felt like when storms ripped through their feathers.

Turbulent.

Powerful.

Destructive.

Bruce was Jeremiah's storm.

There's a sharp contrast between the deadened senses inside Jeremiah's body and what he feels every time Bruce had the courage to shift his hands; the pale man felt sparks along his spine. He broke their kisses to drop his mouth to his neck, whispering “Bruce,” as he sucked marks on his skin.

Bruce shivered, "Please, please, please" was the only stream of words he could muster, each riddled with heated desperation.

Jeremiah's movements become erratic and stronger, fueled by Bruce's tantalizing moans.

Wanting to be as close as possible, Bruce looped his legs around Jeremiah and squeezed tight. He buried his face against the older man's neck, hardly trying to control his loud voice.

They're each drawing close to their climax, turning their moans into little pleas against each other’s skin. 

For Jeremiah, it wasn’t like an orgasm when the pleasure hit. It was the deepest sense of happiness and calm he'd ever felt.

Upon feeling Jeremiah's ejaculation, Bruce's voice turned into wordless cries. His own release painted his and Jeremiah's chest, prompting a few involuntary hip thrusts. The whole experience was transcendent for the raven-haired male and he felt as though Jeremiah gave him the most beautiful gift he could have ever asked for. A sense of belonging that he'd been craving for a very, long time.

Jeremiah dropped his head to Bruce's chest.

Bruce rested one hand on the back of Jeremiah's head, fingers stroking through his green hair. 

No words pass between them and neither attempts to move.

When Jeremiah finally looks up, he noticed a slack-jawed Bruce, with one of the most tranquil expressions he'd ever seen, sleeping away peacefully. 

Jeremiah carefully pulls out of Bruce and covered both of them with a blanket. Jeremiah slipped an arm around Bruce's waist and proceeds to watch him sleep. 

Much to his surprise, the pale man finds himself growing increasingly drowsy.

That's a first.

This was a busy day for all sorts of 'firsts'....

Jeremiah fell asleep with his face pressed against Bruce's cheekbone. 

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce's body hurts but he doesn't let it stop him. He ignored the stiff soreness in his limbs and moved through desolate, dirty streets. He feels bad for having left without waking Jeremiah and informing him of his intentions... He had the distinct feeling Jeremiah would've stopped him, would've tried to 'fix' him and somehow prolong what was inevitable.

Bruce was dying. He wasn't created for a long life; he was only temporary. He wasn't supposed to last over a year but here he was, 16 months into his 'life' and apt to die on any given day. 

What if Jeremiah woke up one day and found a lifeless body next to him?  What an awful thing to do to someone as kind and generous as Jeremiah Valeska. 

No, Bruce would never want to hurt the pale man. In fact, he wanted to show how appreciative he was by leaving good memories with Jeremiah. He didn't want to leave him with anything sad or painful. 

Best to go now, while Bruce still had his health.

Cruel irony at it's best. 

Bruce was the humanized form of just that. 

The sun hasn't risen yet and it's cold out. Bruce didn't want to take too much, besides the nice black suit Jeremiah purchased him. If he had his old clothes -the ones Jeremiah discarded- he would've taken those instead. 

As he stopped to take a break, Bruce notices white clouds every time he exhales; it's REALLY cold out. He wraps his arms around himself and hugs his body, a jacket or sweater would've been helpful in this situation.

Bruce is appalled when he checks to see how much distance he covered.

Three or four miles at most and he can still see Jeremiah's theater building in view.

"Awww come on." Bruce groaned in frustration. He blamed last night's activities for his slow pace...

Something warm trails over Bruce's lips.

"No...." Bruce touched his lower face and looked at his fingers.

Blood.

Alarmed, Bruce quickly peeled his suit jacket off and rolled it up. He pressed it against his nose and frantically looked for an area to hide. If he was going to die, he'd rather Jeremiah didn't know. 

Maybe, just maybe, it was better for Jeremiah to never know what became of the doppelganger. 

That thought alone drove Bruce into an empty grocery store. He stepped over glass and pushed metal shopping carts aside. The building was empty and dim, having been raided weeks ago. 

Bruce walked through an aisle and glanced around. 

Vertigo overtakes Bruce.

It's sudden, causing Bruce to stumble and grab onto a nearby shelf.

The shelf breaks under his weight and he crashes face first into the floor.

Bruce weakly hugs the suit jacket to his chest and curls up around it. He holds onto it as though it were the most precious thing in the world. 

Everything is spinning.

It won't stop spinning.

Bruce closed his eyes and he let his thoughts wander... 

He sees Jeremiah's face.

Hears Jeremiah's laughter.

Then it all fades out to black.

 

* * *

 

 

Somebody was observing the unusual early movements in Gotham streets.

A figure approached the barren grocery store and stepped inside. 

Green heels moved across the floor, crushing glass with each step.

The crunching sound stops in front of an unconscious man -teenager?- who appears to be lying in a pool of blood. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially I wanted this to have 4 chapters ONLY but I bumped it up to 5. 
> 
> Leave it up to me to brainstorm some ideas! xD Totally changed my mind on how I wanted this to end. So for those that are reading, congrats, there's going to be some more chapters (hopefully with more heartfelt fluff and drama)
> 
> Tallyho~


	6. Chapter 6

 

Something is missing.

No, not something.

_Someone._

The familiar warmth that provided so much elation was gone.

Pale, iridescent eyes open and Jeremiah sits up in bed, staring at the empty spot next to him.

"Bruce?" Jeremiah called aloud, gaze shifting to the closed bathroom door.

Silence.

A distinct pressure begins creeping up into his chest, pressing down on his rib cage and lungs. Quietude never disturbed Jeremiah Valeska but now he felt as though he were drowning in it. 

Bruce is gone.

But why did he leave?

Was it because of Jeremiah's forceful actions?

Did he take it too far?

Questions swirled in his mind, making it difficult for Jeremiah to focus on any one thought.

Find him.

_Find Bruce._

Jeremiah got out bed and went over to his walk-in closet. He chose a dark single breasted suit jacket, pairing it with a white collar dress shirt, a grey plaid wool vest, and a green tie. He slipped on the fitted suit and matching trousers, taking care to fasten the belt and slip on red leather gloves afterwards. Having never gotten dressed that fast before, Jeremiah was out the door within minutes. Even when rushed, Jeremiah's appearance was always put together and calculative; a darker material meant he could slip in and out of Gotham's shadows undetected. He descended the stairs, catching a glimpse of blonde hair near the bottom.

"Good morning Jere-" Ecco trailed off and her eyes widened slightly, showing genuine concern. "What's wrong?"

"Bruce is gone." Jeremiah reached the last step and approached the woman. 

Before Ecco could respond, Elaine cleared her throat.

"Ahem."

Ecco and Jeremiah look over at the housemaid. 

"The boy...he left this." Elaine raised a folded up piece of notebook paper.

Jeremiah moved over to Elaine and plucked the note from her hand. "Thank you..." He unfolded it and read over the few scribbled words.

_**I'm sorry.** _

_**Please don't look for me.** _

Jeremiah crumpled up the note, hands shaking with anger. He let the paper fall onto the floor and he forced himself to calm down by taking a deep breath. Exhaling softly, Jeremiah turned to face Ecco. "Gather the men up and meet me outside. We're going to split up in groups and search for Bruce."

"But-"

"Ecco." Jeremiah raised his hand to silence her, "What did I say about interrupting?"

Ecco frowned, "Not to do so."

"Correct, as I was saying...we're going to separate into 4 groups and scour the city. Bruce is sick and we need to find him before he suffers another nosebleed."

Ecco raised an eyebrow.

"I'll fill you in on the details later. Post-haste Ecco." Jeremiah lowered his hand.

"Right away." Ecco turned and strode off. 

"Elaine, please fetch me that medicine you used on Bruce last night. I may need it." 

"Yes, of course Mr. Valeska." Elaine turned and went into the kitchen to fetch her handbag. 

Within half an hour, Ecco has all of the men armed and loaded into 4 black vans. When asked what they're next job is, Ecco responds with, "Search and retrieve."

Eddy, one of the men seated on the passenger side, peered over at Ecco curiously. "Who are we searching for?....is it that kid from last night?"

Ecco nodded, "Yes and as far as I know, he's sick. That places urgency on our mission today."

Eddy snickered and looked over his shoulder at his friends. "See? Told ya the boss had a thing for boys." 

A gun clicks.

Ecco shoved the barrel of her gun against Eddy's head. 

A surprised squeak left Eddy's mouth and he whimpered underneath Ecco's burning gaze. 

"You'll not disrespect Jeremiah Valeska in my presence, is that understood?" 

Eddy nodded quickly. The remainder of the men shifted uncomfortably in their seats; they long suspected Ecco had a thing for the pale man.

Ecco uncocked her gun and walked over to another vehicle. She climbed into the driver's side and slammed the door shut.

Jeremiah is seated in the passenger side and he doesn't inquire about Ecco's angry outburst, for all he knew one of the men made a pass at her again. "We'll start at the boundaries near Barbara Kean's place, have the other 2 vehicles search the South end, by Penguin's domain but they must NOT cross." Jeremiah put on a black panama hat and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. He neglected sunscreen but it didn't concern him as much as finding Bruce did.

"Yes Sir." Ecco texted the directions to the other drivers.

The black vans left the old theater building, reaching a fork in the main road, and separating to search different areas of Gotham. 

 

* * *

 

 

Darkness.

Solitude. 

Death.

"Hello?" Bruce called out. 

No answer.

Bruce looked around but all he could see were walls made of shadows....

Shadows that moved.

Feeling unnerved, Bruce started walking. He had no sense of direction and he wasn't entirely sure where the overhead light source was coming from. He glanced up but saw no type of light fixtures.... Light was present, as was an unusual thick fog.

The fog swirled around Bruce's shoes; it appeared to be flowing in one direction.

Bruce decided to follow the moving mist at his feet. 

The raven haired male walked for what seemed like hours. The shadows kept their distance but Bruce can feel eyes on him...at least, he thought _they_ had some type of eyes.

Bruce eventually gave up and stopped walking.

This was purgatory and he was going to spend his afterlife alone.

Alone.

Why was the thought painful? 

Bruce raised his hand and put it over his heart. "Why?....Why am I terrified?" 

The darkness swallows up the words.

_"Bruce."_

Bruce looked around when he heard the soft whisper. It sounded like Jer-

_"Bruce, where are you?"_

"Jeremiah!" Bruce shouted at the moving forms in the distance. He took off sprinting towards the source of the voice.

_"Bruce."_

Bruce came to a skidding halt and whipped around; the voice changed directions, it was behind him.

_"Bruce."_

Now it was above him.

Bruce looked up.

_"Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, BRUCE!!!!!"_

The voices weigh on Bruce, crushing him against the ground.

Hands claw at his body, ripping pieces of cloth and flesh away.

Something burns inside his nose.

The sensation crawls up into his nostrils, filling his head with fire and brimstone.

He gasps and reaches out into the darkness, calling once more for the pale man.

 

* * *

 

 

"JEREMIAH!" 

Bruce bolted up into a sitting position. Blue eyes dart around the unfamiliar room. Panicking, he rolled off the bed? -table- and searched for an escape route.

"Wooooow! Hold your horses cowboy. You're safe." 

Bruce took several steps back, eyeing older woman with red hair and emerald eyes. "Who are you?"

"Aww come on Bruce, I haven't changed _that_ much have I?" She looked down at herself, "Then again I guess I have. Hmmm." She shrugged and set a small bottle down on the table. "Sorry about that, I tried everything to wake you prior to using ammonia inhalants."

Bruce spotted a shovel on the ground and quickly picked it up. He kept it raised, ready to swing if the woman advanced on him.

The sight has the redhead laughing. "Haha, cute." She crossed her arms and clicked her tongue, "Tsk, tsk, is that anyway to treat the woman who saved your life? If I wanted you dead, I could've just left you in that abandoned grocery store."

Bruce blinked and he looked down, taking a few moments to recall recent events.

Memories were getting harder and harder to keep.

A note.... Jeremiah sleeping in bed next to him...a bloody nose.... and the empty grocery store. 

"You saved me? Why?" Bruce looked back up at the other and lowered the shovel.

"Because we're friends, duh." She rolled her eyes, "Well you were mostly Selina's friend. Tell me, where is the cat? She the one who gave you those bruises on your neck?"

"Bruises?" Bruce absentmindedly covered his neck with one hand. "I haven't seen Selina in awhile...." He eyed the woman wearily. 

The elder was having fun watching Bruce's reactions; the confused expression on his face was adorable. "Good, maybe she smartened up and finally left the city." She pushed away from the table and walked closer to Bruce.

Bruce took a few steps back, grip tightening on the handle of the shovel. "Stay away."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. My babies are _very_ protective of their mommy." She grew nearer.

Bruce raised the shovel.

Without warning, 2 long vines snaked their way down from the ceiling and wrapped around the shovel.

"What the!?" Bruce looked up when the plants yanked the shovel from his grip.

Additional plants wrapped themselves around Bruce's ankles.

Alarmed, Bruce tried to pull away.

"The more you struggle, they more they squeeze." She motioned to the plants with a head tilt. 

Bruce stopped moving and he lowered his hands to his sides. He stared at the woman, who was standing directly in front of him. "Okay. I won't struggle but what is it you want from me?"

"Smart boy." She tapped her right heel against the ground.

The plants let go of Bruce's ankles.

"You really don't know WHO I am?" She inquired.

Bruce glanced down and then back up. "No...I'm sorry." 

"Meh, it's okay." She shrugged, "I mean the last time you saw me I was hitting on you in a club but you were too intoxicated to notice. It's not every day a girl ages a decade in a matter of seconds." She watched Bruce's face to see if there was any recognition.

Bruce blinked but he didn't catch on to the hint.

Rolling her eyes at Bruce's vacuity, the she blurted out in frustration: "It's ME Bruce! Ivy Pepper." 

The yelling surprised Bruce, making him take a step back. "Ivy Pepper?.... They never told me about you."

"They?" Ivy repeated, "Who?" 

"Kathryn and Talon....The order, they didn't mention an Ivy Pepper in Bruce's life." 

"Oh great, you're referring to yourself in the 3rd person. You must've hit your head pretty hard." Ivy said.

Bruce's eyebrows knit together, he's almost tempted to explain his situation and how he's just a clone but the explanation was lengthy. 

A monarch butterfly appeared and it fluttered past the 2 individuals speaking.

Bruce loses all interest in the conversation and he watched the colorful insect in awe.

Ivy quirked an eyebrow and she glanced from Bruce to the butterfly, then back to Bruce. "You act like this is your first time seeing a butterfly."

"It is...." Bruce mumbled, gaze never leaving the butterfly as it moved.

"Huh?....That's....weird. You're weird Bruce." Ivy shook her head.

"Maybe so." Bruce nonchalantly agreed. He appeared sad when the butterfly disappeared around the corner of the room. 

"Hmph....but you're still cute." Ivy reached up and dusted some debris off of Bruce's shoulder, "Too bad I only go for guys my age but I can see why Selina still has a crush on you."

Doubtful, Bruce raised a eyebrow, "She does? She told me she didn't like Bruce intimately..."

"Okay this whole 3rd person thing has GOT to stop, okay?" Ivy pinched Bruce's left cheekbone, making the boy squirm. "If you enjoyed that butterfly, wait till you see the rest Brucie~" Ivy turned around and her green heels carried her across the room. She motioned with her index finger, "Follow me. I'll give you the grand tour."

Too weary to question her intentions, Bruce followed the older woman across the room and into a hallway. He glanced around, noticing how plants clung to the walls. "Where are we?"

"A lepidopterarium." Ivy said.

"........What's that?" Bruce doesn't attempt to repeat the word.

Ivy glanced at Bruce, "A conservatory, a building made for butterflies, a butterfly house if you will."

Bruce doesn't say anything, he appears to be lost in thought.

"Oh my God.... _really_ Bruce? You've never heard of those? Never been to the one in Gotham Central Park?" Ivy was beside herself with shock.

"No....there's a lot of things I haven't been able to experience." 

Ivy notices the unhappy expression on Bruce, causing her to sigh and shake her head. "You and me both kid....Well, you're in for a treat." Ivy stopped in front of 2 double glass doors and she tapped her right heel.

The plants shift on the glass and the doors slide open.

Bruce's mouth dropped. 

The walls were made entirely of glass and the ceiling was a spherical structure, revealing Gotham's night sky. Plants of every variation and type filled the room, as well as a multitude of different butterfly species. 

The sight itself was the very definition of natural beauty and it literally took Bruce's breath away.

Ivy watched Bruce from the corner of her eye and his stunned expression made her chuckle. "Reach your hand out."

"Hmm?" Bruce glanced at Ivy and then back to the butterflies. Hesitant, he extended his arm and held his hand out as instructed.

A yellow and black butterfly landed on Bruce's palm.

"Ivy!" Bruce gasped in astonishment.

"Shhh, not too loud now." Ivy looked up as more butterflies floated down from the glass ceiling.

Bruce chuckled with delight as colorful insects landed on his arm, shoulders, and on top of his head. "They're gorgeous," he whispered, "And they tickle." Bruce resisted the urge to scratch his right ear where a blue butterfly perched.

Ivy smiled, satisfied with Bruce's words. Truth be told, there wasn't a single soul that entered the lepidopterarium after she took over on it. It was a beautiful structure, perfect for Ivy to cultivate new plant species and help them grow at exceptional rates. Thanks to Wayne Industries, the plants can now move and protect themselves. She almost has the formula down, soon enough her babies will be ready to overrun Gotham City. 

A gunshot rings out.

Bruce flinches and the butterflies quickly take flight.

Ivy's smile faded into a death glare. Her emerald eyes flicker towards the sound of painful screaming. "Somebody is trespassing." 

Bruce can feel his heart sinking... He hoped and prayed that it wasn't Jeremiah Valeska outside the building. 

"Stay here." Ivy turned around to leave.

"Okay." Bruce didn't listen and he quietly followed Ivy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ran out of lyrics to post at the beginning of the chapter.... So I'm just gonna post pictures! Buhahaha
> 
> And I'm referring to Ivy as how she appeared in the last season (after going through the whole cocoon stage and turning into a completely different person).
> 
> EDITED on 12/18/2018
> 
> Okay so I changed Ivy back to the redhead, because I noticed her personality didn't match the brunette version we see in season 4. She's Ivy Pepper Season 3. Should make a lot more sense now xD


	7. Chapter 7

Green heels glide effortlessly through the plant-riddled hallways, a sense of determination and ferocity emanates from the redhead. It’s almost as if the plants sense their mother’s rage, the vines began to writhe and ripple throughout the halls.

More gunfire erupts from outside the building, towards the main entrance.

“OPEN.” Ivy hissed and the plants wrap themselves around the double glass sliding doors, pulling them apart. She stepped through the opening and paused on concrete floors, emerald eyes moving over to the plant barricade that was set up around the perimeter. The obstruction itself is made of numerous Dionaea muscipula, otherwise known as the Venus flytrap. These plants, however, are anything but small. Having been exposed to the growth chemicals stolen from Wayne Industries, the carnivorous plants stand over 7ft tall.

The source of the screaming is coming from a man who is struggling on the ground and clutching at the bloody stump where his right arm _should_ have been. 

Dangling from a venus flytrap's head is the missing limb and the carnivorous plant noisily chomps away on it. 

"Hang on Eddy!" 

Several men shoot at the surrounding plants, including the one eating their friend's amputated arm.

Lead bullets rain down upon the plants, causing a wave of tremors among their green bodies. 

A loud, harsh, piercing cry pushed past Ivy's lips. "GET AWAY FROM MY BABIES!" She raised her hands above her head. 

Bruce jumped out of the way in time when an army of vines burst through the glass doors, spewing glass shards everywhere in the process. He dove over the metal railing and landed on a pile of rock fragments and shrubbery, quickly shielding his face as glass fell upon him. 

The men grab their injured friend and drag him away.

Meanwhile, Jeremiah and Ecco are standing a safe distance away, observing the chaos unfolding before them. 

In Ecco's right hand is a leather leash and attached to the other end is an adult German Shepard. It was her idea to bring the tracking dog along and fortunately for them, Jeremiah kept Bruce's tattered clothing from the first evening they met. It was a long, stressful 24-hours of searching Gotham City high and low to find Bruce. They caught a break when Azael picked up on the boy's scent, eventually leading them to the lepidopterarium. Like Jeremiah, Ecco was familiar with the metahuman inhabiting the building but only through reputation. 

"Hmm." Jeremiah's cold calculative gaze studied the wall made of Venus flytraps, they were murderous and it would be tricky to get past them. Unless, he utilized the grenades Ecco stored in the back of the van. The plants posed as a hindrance and it would be dealt with accordingly; Jeremiah was impatient to get inside the building and locate his runaway ward. "The grenades, grab them."

Ecco nodded and right as she turned, Azael started growling.

Jeremiah and Ecco look up to see an angry redhead approaching. 

Ecco raised her firearm. 

The group of men fire their guns while others tried to run from the approaching vines snaking their way across the ground. Some get captured and the vines wrap around their bodies, squeezing the life out of them.

Azael whimpered and barked at the plants that were drawing dangerously close.

Jeremiah raised his hand, "Don't fire. She might be the only one who knows Bruce's whereabouts."

"Fine." Ecco lowered her gun a fraction of an inch.

"How dare you come to my home and HURT my beloved plants." Ivy stopped a few feet away, as did the horde of vines. 

"I assure you Miss Pepper, that was not my intention." Jeremiah said in his monotone voice. "You have something of mine."

Ivy rolled her eyes, "Don't talk to me like you know me AND I have NOTHING that belongs to you." 

"B-boss....h-help..." One of the men gasped for breath, others cried out in pain from the plants squeezing around their bodies.

Ivy, Ecco, and Jeremiah pay no attention to the dying men. Right now they're at a standoff and neither wants to forfeit their position of power.  

"Not a thing my dear, a _who_." Jeremiah said and he glanced down, noticing one of the plants was close to his right heel. 

Ivy frowned slightly and her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "You mean Bruce, right?"

Jeremiah turned his attention back to Ivy and nodded once. 

"What do you want with Bruce?" 

"That's my business."

Ivy scoffed, "You think I'd hand him over to the likes of _you_?Think again clown, you're not getting anywhere near my friend."

"Friend?" Crimson lips curl into an amused smile. Oh, Ivy had no idea who she was talking about, the little clone had her fooled.

"Yes and we don't take kindly to unwelcome guests." 

Multiple vines wrap around Jeremiah and Ecco's legs.

Ecco stiffened up and she let go of the leash, "Attack."

The German Shepard followed through with the command and lunged at Ivy. 

Caught by surprise, Ivy gasped and tried to jump back.

Sharp teeth and a strong jaw latch onto the woman's right thigh. The sheer force of the attack knocks Ivy down onto her back and she howled in pain.

Jeremiah chuckled but it's cut short when a vine loops around his neck. How bothersome. 

"Hang on Jeremiah, almost...done...." Ecco grunted, using a hunting knife to slash through every vine wrapped around her legs.

Ivy couldn't get the dog off, forcing her to shove fingernails into one of it's eyes.

Azael let go with a painful yelp. He whined around helplessly and rubbed his injured eye with his right paw. 

"End them now!" Ivy shouted, having barely stood up; the gash on her right thigh is bleeding profusely.

The plants disregard Jeremiah's men and they all move towards the pale man and his blonde partner.

Sensing the impending danger, Jeremiah flicked his right wrist and activated the trigger underneath his right sleeve. A mechanical spring shot forth a small pistol into his hand and Jeremiah pointed it at Ivy's face. 

"STOP!"

Ivy looked over her shoulder.

Ecco and Jeremiah look past Ivy. 

The plants stopped moving altogether.

A familiar raven-haired male cautiously approached the feuding three. 

"Bruce." Jeremiah's expression softened into a smile, a genuine smile.

"Jeremiah." Bruce found it difficult not to smile back; a warmth filled his body when he met Jeremiah's gaze. 

"Bruce run!" Ivy snapped.

Bruce flinched a little and he shook his head. "Ivy stop. Don't hurt him." He looked at Jeremiah, "Put the gun down, please."

Ecco and Jeremiah exchange glances.

Ecco has this hard look on her face, as though to say 'Are you really letting this kid order you around?'

Jeremiah shrugged his shoulders, the smile suggests he can't help it; Bruce has him wrapped around his finger.

"He attacked my babies! And look what his fucking dog did to me!" Ivy motioned to the wound on her thigh. 

"I'm sorry Ivy, it's my fault. Jeremiah was looking for me and all of this... happened because of me." Bruce walked up to Ivy, "Your injury needs attention, put a stop to this and we can-"

Bruce trailed off and he swayed a little. He put a hand over his face, having been struck with sudden dizziness.

Ivy's eyes widened. 

Jeremiah felt sick with worry, something was wrong with Bruce. He flicked his wrist and the gun disappeared back into his sleeve. He reached over and grabbed the knife from Ecco. With a sense of urgency, Jeremiah cut through the vines around his neck and legs. 

"Bruce what's wrong?" Ivy reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't....feel so good...." Bruce backed away from the touch. He looked over to see Jeremiah approaching, "N-no....stay back." 

No sooner did the words leave his mouth, Bruce violently wretched out the contents of his stomach all over the concrete floor. What's strange about the substance on the ground is that it's blood.

Not normal blood, however. 

It's black and thick like syrup.

The dark liquid reeks of decay and rot. 

"BRUCE!" Jeremiah saw the boy faint. He moved over to catch him in his arms and gently lower him to the ground. He cradled Bruce's head against his chest and brushed black curls from his face. He ignored the smell on the younger male's lips, but it was a scent he was all too familiar with.

Death.

"Jeremiah...." Bruce's eyelids fluttered open. "What's happening to me?"

"I don't know Bruce. I'll take you to a doctor right now so please, stay with me." Jeremiah pressed a kiss against Bruce's forehead, "Stay."

Bruce closed his eyes and mumbled a soft 'Okay' before passing out.

 

* * *

 

 

"My, my, my.....the prodigal son has returned." 

"Can you help him?"

"I can try but in all honesty Mr. Valeska, Subject 514A was meant to be temporary." Hugo motioned to one of his assistants. 

Harriet, a young pre-med student, approached Hugo. "Yes?"

"Please fetch a gurney and try to make it...comfortable, as this particular body isn't quite dead yet."

Harriet nodded and left the room. 

Jeremiah can feel his mouth twitching into a scowl. If he didn't need Hugo's help right now, he would've shot him for casually dismissing Bruce like one of his failed experiments. He looked down at the unconscious male curled up on leather recliner. Jeremiah pressed the back of his hand against Bruce's forehead. 

It was cold to the touch.

"You'll not refer to him by that anymore." Jeremiah unbuttoned his suit jacket.

"I beg your pardon?" Hugo watched Jeremiah; it would appear the notorious bomber developed an attachment to Bruce Wayne's doppelganger.

"Bruce, his name is Bruce." Jeremiah covered the boy up with his suit jacket. "His blood....what's wrong with it? It wasn't like that 24 hours ago."

"Hello! Still bleeding here." Ivy waved her hand around. She tied a scarf around her wound and continuously applied pressure to it.

Ecco has her arms crossed and she's wearing an annoyed expression. "Nobody asked you to tag along."

"Just watching out for my friend. I'm worried about Bruce too you know." Ivy said.

Hugo's eyes flashed with interest when Ivy mentioned her injury. "Ah, you're a metahuman are you not? Certainly not one of my creations." He approached Ivy and looked down at her thigh, "Nasty bite that is. I'll have one my assistants take care of you, assuming you'll indulge my curiosity with a blood sample?"

"Hmph...." Ivy's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "You called Bruce a subject... What kind of doctor _are_ you?"

"A doctor?" Hugo laughed at the assumption, "I'm not a doctor in the traditional sense, you see I-"

Jeremiah coughed and cleared his throat, "Ahem. That's enough, none of these questions pertain to Bruce's well being." He gave Ivy a stern look, "Give the man his blood sample or leave." 

Ivy snapped her eyes and sighed loudly, "ONE sample then."

Harriet returned and she pushed a metal gurney into the room; the surface was lined with a few thick blankets and a pillow. 

"Mr. Valeska if you will." Hugo motioned to the sleeping male and he looked at Harriet afterwards. "Take Miss Ivy into the kitchen and-"

"Kitchen?" Ivy interrupted, "You're going to have a nurse sew me up in a kitchen?"

"Pre-med." Harriet pipped up.

Hugo put a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, an impatient sigh following. "Yes the kitchen. It's one of the most sanitary rooms inside this building. I no longer have a proper lab and have to make use of my current dwelling." He was beginning to understand Ecco and Jeremiah's irritation when it came to Ivy, her demeanor is very much like that of a child. 

"You don't have to snap." Ivy straightened her posture, although, she kept most of her weight off of her right leg.

Harriet lead the way to the kitchen, Ivy followed with a slight limp in her step. 

Meanwhile, Jeremiah had already transferred Bruce to the metal gurney. He stroked a gloved hand against Bruce's face, his own expression was devoid of any emotion. "His blood....why does it smell like that?"

"Ah, yes, your question about the blood has an interesting answer." Hugo walked up to the gurney and he reached down to swipe his finger across Bruce's chin. 

Jeremiah wanted to smack Hugo's hand away but he refrained from doing so.

Raising the finger to his face, Hugo sniffed at the dry blood. "He's rotting from the inside out."

"Rotting?" Jeremiah furrowed his eyebrows, the answer puzzled him. 

"Yes, let me see.... Use fruit as an example, a banana if you will." Hugo lowered his hand to his side and looked down at Bruce. "Bananas are young and green, they cannot be eaten right away. However, after a period of time, the skin turns yellow and the fruit ripens. People genuinely prefer ripe fruit as it's sweeter and visibly appealing." Hugo glanced up when three men entered the room, all of them dressed in blue scrubs; they were carrying medical instruments and bottles of chemicals. "Set those on the table over there." He looked back to Jeremiah, "Bananas, like all fruits, have a limited shelf life. If left for too long, a banana develops dark spots on it's flesh and the skins shrivels up to a dry, black mass. Bruce here has lived long past his shelf life and much like an overripe fruit, he's rotting away." 

Jeremiah absorbs the words and he silently mulls them over in his head. Bruce was rotting away like a fucking piece of fruit, it angers him how callous Hugo was with his creations. Did any of them matter or hold favor to the mad scientist? Did Hugo get off on playing God? It wasn't fair to Bruce to be given such a short life.... He was going to do everything in his power to help Bruce live a longer life, one in which Jeremiah would be at his side. "Can you reverse the process?"

"Hmm....reverse the process." Hugo clicked his tongue and considered it. "Maybe, it really depends if Subjec- Bruce - has enough organic material inside his body."

"Explain."

"I mean, if more of him is really alive then it is dead... I can impede the decomposition process and work on a formula to revive him." Hugo pointed to the suit jacket covering Bruce, "Strip him. I'm going to need blood and tissue samples, including a bone marrow sample."

Jeremiah is taken back by the command, "You...really _need_ all of that from Bruce?"

"I do." Hugo nodded. He saw the bite shaped bruises on Bruce's neck and deducted they came from Jeremiah. It was comical, and somewhat tragic, that somebody like Jeremiah Valeska would fall for a thing like Subject 514A. Hugo wasn't entirely sure if he could accomplish the daunting task of saving Subject 514A but he was going to give it his best effort and avoid the pale man's wrath. 

"Alright, you'll have to provide him something for the pain." Jeremiah pulled the suit jacket off of Bruce.

"He doesn't feel pain, both in the physical and emotional sense." Hugo said.

"Oh...." Jeremiah forgot about Bruce's inability to experience physical pain, however, he begged to differ on the emotional part. When they made love, Jeremiah could hear and feel the pain in Bruce's voice. He knew the boy felt something for him and as heartbreaking as his sudden departure was, Jeremiah could forgive him in a heartbeat. Pale fingers move across Bruce's chest, undoing each button they came across. He lifted Bruce's arm and was about to peel the sleeve off when he noticed Ecco and Hugo's assistants were still present in the room. He paused, "Hugo can you have your men step out? And Ecco, I would appreciate if you closed the doors and stood watch outside." 

Hugo ordered the three men to leave the room. 

If the request surprised her, it didn't show on Ecco's face. She gave a single nod, stepped out of the room, and closed the sliding doors behind her. 

 

* * *

 

 

Ecco finds herself outside of Hugo Strange's mansion, she had the distinct feeling it wasn't his original home.... The mailbox had 'Jones' painted across it. Cold, blue eyes glance to and from the empty road and houses; nearly all the residents fled Gotham when the blackout occurred. Most traveled by ferry and if they could afford it, private jets. This was in the high-end district, Oswald Cobblepot's territory. Concerned for her and Jeremiah's safety, Ecco suggested the men stay back at the theater building - what was left of them anyway, Ivy's plants took out half of them. Only her, Jeremiah, Ivy, and Bruce illegally crossed over Oswald's boundary to seek out Hugo Strange. 

"Did they kick you out too?" 

Ecco turned around, gun raised.

"Wow, it's just me." Ivy raised her hands in the air, "Paranoid much?"

"Hmph." Ecco lowered the gun and resumed her watchful post. "No." That was a lie, Jeremiah very clearly kicked her out. She hated to admit jealousy over a dying boy... Why was Jeremiah so enamored with him? 

"Oh well they kicked me out, wouldn't even tell me how Bruce was doing." Ivy visibly pouted. She stood on Ecco's left side and crossed her arms, "You worried about Ozzy?"

Ecco nodded, "Among other things."

"He's a nice guy, if he does show up I can talk to him. Me and Ozzy, we go WAY back. Pulled him from a river you know, saved his life." 

"Shh!"

"Rude! Why don't you-"

Ecco slapped a hand over Ivy's mouth and pointed her gun towards the road.

Somebody was walking towards them.

Ivy stared at the approaching stranger.

"Listen to what I have to say, forget you saw me on this very day. Lower the gun and go for a long run~" Fingers snap.

Ecco suddenly dropped the gun and she turned to the right before taking off to jog along the sidewalk.

"What the hell?!" Alarmed, she watched the blonde-haired woman disappear around a corner. Ivy turned back to face the unknown man and she screamed when she came face-to-face with him.

Jervis covered Ivy's mouth with a gloved hand and raised a finger to his own lips, "Shhh my darling, there's no need to be afraid. I've come to deliver a message for which I was handsomely paid."

Ivy shoved his hand away from her mouth, "I'm not letting you inside! You'll have to kill me first." She snatched the gun up off the ground and pointed the barrel at the stranger's face. 

"Oh, ho, ho, so very true but... the message is for _you_." Jervis lowered his hands behind his back and smiled.

"Me?" Ivy glared, she didn't trust this guy and his outlandish getup. "What message? From who?"

"Now that is a detail I cannot reveal... In the end, let's say from a friend." Jervis glanced down when a cell phone started ringing in his right coat pocket. "How punctual!"

More curios then anything, Ivy lowered the gun; she kept her finger over the trigger, just in case. "Is that your so called friend?"

"No, a friend of yours." Jervis reached inside his coat and retrieved the cellular device. He swiped his finger across the screen and raised it to his ear. "Yes, Ivy is here as you said." He held the phone out to the redhead, "No need to fear, this message is something you must hear." 

"....Okay but I'm warning you, make any sudden moves and I'll shoot." Ivy took the phone and kept the gun aimed towards the man's stomach. 

Jervis nodded and he returned his arms behind his back, patiently waiting with a smile across his face. 

Ivy raised the phone to her right ear, "Hello?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey guys I didn't forget this story! Sorry for the long wait, I've been meaning to catch up on this story but work has been crazy busy. Most days I'm mentally exhausted and can't think of anything to write. 
> 
> I really like where this one is going :3
> 
> EDITED on 12/18/2018
> 
> As mentioned in the previous chapter, Ivy is now a redhead AGAIN xD To match the personality I've given her.


	8. Chapter 8

For the next three hours, Hugo and Jeremiah work on collecting samples for the arduous task of preserving Bruce.

Insisting he be the only one to touch the unconscious teen, Jeremiah delicately inserts a needle into warm flesh. He filled up six test tubes, handed them to the doctor, and bandaged the small wounds. Using the sharp end of a scalpel, Jeremiah scraped skin samples from Bruce’s fingers, scalp, chest, and the bottom of his heels. An anti-bacterial cream is applied on the abrasions, followed by carefully maneuvering Bruce onto his stomach.

“Have you performed a bone marrow biopsy before?” inquired Jeremiah. He picked up a cotton swab, dipped it in a glass beaker full of rubbing alcohol, and proceeded to clean the area over Bruce’s lower back.

“Yes, many times.” Hugo slipped on a pair of blue, latex gloves.

“You’re not a surgeon…”

“Never said I was,” the older man countered.

Feeling apprehensive, Jeremiah tossed the cotton swab in a nearby trash bin. “Indulge me one more time,  _why_  do you need bone marrow?”

Sighing, Hugo set a large needle down on a tray of surgical instruments. He turned to face the concerned male, “Bone marrow offers detailed information about what’s going on inside Bruce’s body. With the sample, I can diagnose his state of health and determine the progression of decomposition. I’ll be able to construct a remedial compound to balance out his iron levels and metabolism. If all goes well, it will stop the decay of his red and white blood cells. Also, it’ll allow more time to figure out a way to reverse synthetic degeneration.”

The words slowly sink in and Jeremiah visibly dug a fingernail into his right thumb.

“If you would prefer, I’ll do the procedure myself. You can hold Bruce down, should he wake up and attempt to move.” Hugo resumed prepping the surgical needle, as though reading Jeremiah’s mind.

Jeremiah gave a low murmur of assent before looking down at Bruce. He lifted his hand and placed it over the boy’s head, fingers combing through the soft dark curls. Jeremiah had a high tolerance for pain, but under NO circumstances would he agree to a bone marrow biopsy… Not without anesthesia. He really hoped what Hugo said was true, that Bruce was incapable of feeling physical pain.

Shifting to the other end of the gurney, Jeremiah leaned over and placed his hands on either side of Bruce’s hips. That soft dip in his back was the focus of Jeremiah’s pale, green eyes. If it wasn’t for Hugo’s presence, ruby red lips would find their way to the delicate line and press a kiss there.

Raising the needle and moving to Bruce’s left side, Hugo glanced at the other. “I’d advise you to look away.”

“And I’d advise you to exercise extreme caution, should Bruce feel ANY pain-“

“He won’t.”

“-ANY PAIN, whatsoever, I’ll take that needle in your hands and gouge your eyes out with it. Then I’ll give you a lobotomy with it afterwards.” Jeremiah didn’t look up and his voice was completely devoid of emotion.

Noticing the subtle hostility, Hugo nodded once. “Understood.” He positioned the needle over Bruce’s lower back and gently applied pressure.

The tip of the surgical needle touches skin and like a hot knife cutting through butter, it slipped into the muscle tissue with ease.

Jeremiah watched in silence, eyes hovering on the needle and observing Hugo’s steady hands.

About an inch and a half of the needle disappears inside Bruce’s body before coming into contact with solid bone.

Hugo paused; he could feel Bruce’s pelvic bone. Gripping the barrel with both hands, he maintained a firm grip and pushed even harder. It took some effort on his part but after a low grunt, the needle pierced bone.

There’s a low, cracking noise – as though someone popped their knuckles.

Jeremiah’s gaze shifted to Bruce’s face, whom appears to be sleeping peacefully.

“Ah, there we go”, said Hugo.

Black, murky, bone marrow slowly circulates into the syringe.

Pale fingers draw circles against Bruce’s back and really, it’s the only thing keeping Jeremiah calm at this point. He desperately wanted to withdraw that needle from his beloved and murder Hugo for having created Bruce with a massive flaw; a short life span.

Once the syringe is full of bone marrow, Hugo carefully pulled the needle out of Bruce’s body. “You may clean and bandage the-”

Knock.

Knock.

The two men look over at the door.

Recognizing the double-knock, Jeremiah cleared his throat. “Yes Ecco, come in.” He grabbed the blanket and covered Bruce up.

The door opens and in steps a very flushed, out-of-breath, and tremendously sweaty Ecco.

Jeremiah quirked an eyebrow at appearance of his consort. “What happened to you?”

“I…went for a run.” Ecco said breathlessly.

“Oh?” Jeremiah is just as equally puzzled as Hugo.

“Have either of you-” Ecco glanced around, “-seen Ivy?”

Hugo shook his head.

Jeremiah did the same. “No. Why’s that?”

“Well….” Ecco met Jeremiah’s quizzical stare and she looked down, seeing a protective hand over Bruce’s lower back. “It’s nothing, never mind. Sorry for the intrusion.” She turned around and walked out of the room, closing the door behind herself with a soft click.

Something about Ecco’s body language suggested exasperation, unless, Jeremiah was misinterpreting.

 

* * *

 

_Disfigured shadows._

_Voiceless murmurs._

_Billowy pillars of smoke._

_Inexpressive eyes._

_Watching._

_Always watching._

_They appear to be waiting for something._

_No, they are waiting for someone._

_Bruce reaches out._

_Dozens of black shadowy limbs reach out for him._

_Stay._

_Stay with us._

_Unafraid, Bruce whispers: “I will”_

A pale hand stroked Bruce’s cheekbone, stirring the boy into wakefulness.

Eyelids flutter open and blue orbs stare up into pale, emerald gemstones. “Jeremiah?”

“Yes, it’s me.” He continues tracing his hand up and down Bruce’s face, gently pushing some matted curls to the side. “You will what?”

“Huh?”

“You were talking in your sleep. You said ‘I will’, you will what, Bruce?”

The touch is cool and offers minor relief to the uncomfortable warmth surging through his body. “Oh… there were these…  _things_ , calling out for me and telling me to stay. I told them I will and I reached out for their hands.”

“Things?” repeated Jeremiah, an incredulous expression on his face.

“Yes, things….like me. Not entirely human.” Bruce reached up and pressed his hand over Jeremiah’s forearm. “I don’t feel good, what-…where are we?” He looked away from the older male and glanced around the room, it looked like a work-study.

Taking Bruce’s hand in his own, Jeremiah leaned down and pressed a kiss against the knuckles. “Hugo Strange’s residence, that’s where we are.”

The name triggered a series of horrific memories.

Pain-filled cries.

Endless injections of unknown chemicals.

Skin grafts that burned.

Bones, repeatedly broken apart and mended again.

The raven-haired male bolted up into a sitting position and tried to climb off the gurney.

Startled, Jeremiah stood up from his chair and he grabbed hold of Bruce’s shoulders. “You need to rest!”  

“LET GO OF ME!” In a moment of panicked frenzy, he attacked Jeremiah’s arm with a harsh bite; the sleeve was rolled back, exposing the entirety of his forearm.

Jeremiah grit his teeth together, pain surged up through his arm and settled in his chest. He kept a tight grip on Bruce’s shoulders and refused to let go.

Silence weighed heavily on the two of them and when Bruce tasted blood, he quickly let go of Jeremiah’s arm and apologized. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to h-hurt you, I just…I can’t be here. I h-have to go-”

Jeremiah suddenly wrapped his arms around Bruce and pulled him in for a hug. He kept one hand behind Bruce’s head and the other against the boy’s lower back, tentatively avoiding the bandaged area. “It’s alright Bruce, you don’t have to apologize.”

The comforting words and embrace soothe Bruce’s frazzled nerves. Slowly, he looped his arms around the older male and rested his chin on Jeremiah’s shoulder. “I don’t want to be here Jeremiah, can we leave?”

“I know Bruce,” Jeremiah whispered, “But we cannot. As much as I hate to say this, Hugo Strange is the only one proficient to help you.”

“I don’t need or want  _his_  help.” Bruce frowned slightly, words couldn’t describe the disdain he held for that man. He remembered all the painful tests, all the physical conditioning, and awful surgeries that ensured his resemblance to Bruce Wayne. Hugo’s unwavering, cold, emotionless eyes watching him from behind a glass window. Those eyes haunted him.

The reaction said enough, Jeremiah decided Hugo’s days were numbered. He could only imagine the torture Bruce succumbed to while at Indian Hill, and why he escaped when he could. Pale fingers comb through raven hair, lightly intertwining with the curls. “I’ll kill him… as soon as he cures you, I  _will_  murder him.”  

“Do you promise?”

Pulling back, Jeremiah reached up and cupped Bruce’s narrow chin with two fingers. He stared into fearful blue eyes and nodded once, “I promise.”

Bruce searched Jeremiah’s eyes, taking note of the somber expression. He didn’t know Jeremiah too well, having met the man only a few days ago... Yet, he wanted to put all of his faith in the pale man. He exhaled a soft sigh, “Okay.” Without thinking about it, Bruce leaned in and closed the gap between their mouths.

‘Ah, he’s growing bolder’ Jeremiah thought to himself, a pleased smile curling his lips. He tilted his head and leaned into the kiss, deepening it with a soft groan.

Chills pulsated throughout Bruce’s body but before he could do anything else, he tasted iron. Recalling the bite, he broke the kiss and looked down at Jeremiah’s injury. “It’s bleeding, I’m so sorry.”

“Barely felt it,” Jeremiah said with a casual shrug. He eyed Bruce’s pillow-soft lips and noticed red stains. Smiling, he raised his right hand and grazed his thumb across the other’s bottom lip. “It appears you have a piece of me inside you.”

“Hm?” Bruce looked away from the bite-mark and stared into Jeremiah’s eyes. It took a few moments for the comment to register and when it did, a faint blush crept into his cheekbones. “It would seem so.” He moved closer, slowly and deliberately ghosting his lips over Jeremiah’s own.

The confirmation and taunting gesture made his blood boil and before he could attack the raven-haired male with a kiss, somebody started knocking on the door.

It wasn’t a double-tap, meaning it couldn’t be Ecco, and it was far too light to be Hugo Strange. Craning his neck to look at the door, Jeremiah lightly tugged the blanket up and draped it over Bruce’s shoulder. “Come in.”

Embarrassingly aware that he was naked, Bruce clutched the blanket and snuggled up behind Jeremiah’s back in an attempt to hide himself. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see who was at the door. ‘Please don’t let it be Hugo’, he thought.

The door opened and in stepped Harriet, Hugo’s assistant and a pre-med student at that.

Harriet was holding an armful of bed linens and she bowed her head apologetically, “Sorry for the interruption but Mr. Strange thought you two might be more comfortable in one of the guest bedrooms. You’re pretty, blonde girlfriend is already settled in on the 2nd floor and as for the redhead-”

“Ecco isn’t my girlfriend.” Jeremiah interrupted calmly.

“Huh? Oh, my mistake-“ Harriet shrugged, “-as for the redhead, I haven’t seen her around, at all…”

Bruce listened quietly, absentmindedly moving his fingers against the folds of Jeremiah’s shirt.

When Jeremiah didn’t comment on Ivy’s disappearance, Harriet continued, “I’ve made up a nice bed for the two of you upstairs and I have extra linens here, as the house gets quite drafty in the fall time. I don’t have extra clothing for the two of you but I do have bathrobes. If you discard your dirty clothing in the basket and leave it outside the door, I’ll get them washed as soon as possible.”

“Very well, could you give us a moment?” Jeremiah inquired.

“Yes,” Harriet nodded and quietly excused herself, shutting the door behind her with a low click.

“I’m naked.”

“Yes, you are Bruce.”

“How long….how long was I out?”

Jeremiah looked down at the younger male, “Three days.”

The remaining color in Bruce’s face drained immediately. He looked at Jeremiah with wide eyes, reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights. “W-what?! How did I go to the bathroom? Was I eating anything? I mean, I can go a few days without food….”

“Bruce, calm down.” Jeremiah took Bruce’s right hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m the one who took care of you. Any time you defecated or urinated on yourself, I cleaned you up. As for nourishment and hydration, you’ve been on an intravenous drip that I removed an hour ago. I’ve cleaned your wounds, bandaged them, and assisted with the blood transfusions.”

Bruce flushed crimson and he covered his face with his hands, mortified by the revelations. Never, in his short lifetime, did he feel so weak and exposed. He didn’t need anyone to take care of him, he’d managed to survive the virus outbreak and the catastrophic blackout. He wasn’t some helpless, failed experiment in need of coddling. In fact, he didn’t recall asking to be saved. Ivy should’ve left him in that empty supermarket and none of this would’ve happened – he sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting in Hugo Strange’s work study.

Sensing the distraught and impending outburst, Jeremiah gently took Bruce’s hands and pried them away. He saw a twisted up expression, contorted by anger and humiliation. Tears were threatening to fall at any moment, so Jeremiah raised Bruce’s hand and pressed a kiss against the palm. “I’m sorry, Bruce. You despise Hugo, and I’m sure you’re sick of needles by now. This…this is the last place you’d want to be.”

Remaining silent, Bruce glared down at the floor.

Jeremiah sighed and looked off to the side, towards one of the windows. “Your opposition is reasonable but please understand… I didn’t want to lose you and after bringing you here, I couldn’t bare the idea of somebody else putting their hands on you.”

Like a pin to an inflated balloon, all his anger deflates. Bruce raised his gaze and noted some indication of grief in Jeremiah’s eyes; his facial expressions never revealed what he was feeling, but his eyes certainly did. Swallowing thickly, Bruce gripped Jeremiah’s hand and stroked his thumb over pale knuckles. “I never asked you to do any of this for me… Why? Why are you doing so much for me?”

Jeremiah craned his neck and met Bruce’s curious stare. He was quiet for a while, as though carefully considering his answer. Ruby lips part and –

An impatient pre-med student knocked on the door loudly.

Both Bruce and Jeremiah look at the door.

“Coming!” Jeremiah scooted off the gurney and with a haggard grunt, he stretched his sore limbs above his head.

Bruce could see wrinkles in Jeremiah’s dress shirt and slacks, prompting him to ask, “When is the last time you changed clothing or had a shower? Tell me you’ve had at least _one_ night’s worth of decent sleep.”

“Soooo many questions.” He chuckled and unrolled the sleeves to cover up the bite on his forearm; it wasn’t bleeding profusely and would scab up soon. “I’ll answer all of those once we’re upstairs. We both could use a hot bath.”

Opening his mouth to speak, Bruce was greeted with a finger pressed over his lips.

Jeremiah shook his head knowingly, that smile never leaving his face.

“Hmph.” Bruce pulled his head away and lifted the blanket up, draping it around both his shoulders. “You expect me to walk like this up a flight of stairs?”

“Walk?” Jeremiah tutted and shook his head, “Tsk, tsk, tsk, no! I fully insist you be carried.”

“What-”

Jeremiah looped his arms underneath Bruce, cutting him off before he could ask his next question.

Gasping in surprise, Bruce used one hand to clutch the blanket around his chest and the other groped at Jeremiah’s shirt.   

Cradling the boy in his arms, Jeremiah couldn’t help but smirk as he moved over to the door. It was easy enough to shift Bruce’s weight in his left arm and use his right hand to open up the door.

Harriet quirked an eyebrow when she saw the two.

A defeated sigh left Bruce and he buried his face against Jeremiah’s chest, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone who might witness him in his current state.

“Lead the way,” said Jeremiah.

Shrugging, Harriet spun around on her heels and promptly lead the two towards the first flight of stairs.

 

* * *

 

It took some serious encouragement on Jeremiah’s part to get Bruce inside the tub with him. He reassured the young male that he had the utmost confidence in his abilities to wash himself up. Jeremiah argued that he missed Bruce those days they were apart – even if Bruce had little control over being unconscious.

Once inside the tub, Jeremiah leaned against the back of the porcelain wall and slipped his arms around Bruce’s slim waist.

Layers of bubbles floated along the surface of the water and a pleasant aroma filled the steamy bathroom. Bruce really couldn’t find anything to complain about, so he let the elder pull him back onto his lap. He leaned against Jeremiah’s chest and sighed contently; the hot water was exceptionally soothing, especially for his lower back.

Keeping one arm around Bruce, Jeremiah lifted the other and pooled hot water into the palm. He poured it over Bruce’s raven hair and repeated this, thoroughly saturating the boy’s hair.

The action lulled Bruce into a peaceful state. He closed his eyes and let the warmth envelope him; he could feel the faint pulse of Jeremiah’s heart against his back. “You said blood transfusions… what’s wrong with my blood?”

The question was understandable and Jeremiah paused, “You’re….decaying.” He didn’t like using that word but it was a better alternative then dying. “Your white and red blood cells are decomposing at an alarming rate. In order to keep you alive, I had Ecco and my men rob a blood bank and deliver everything here.”

“I see…” Bruce didn’t dare ask about the dull throbbing in his lower back; he had an idea of what that was a result of.

Hearing no further questions, Jeremiah lifted his other hand and grabbed a shampoo bottle perched on the tiled floor. He poured a generous amount onto his hands, capped the bottle, and set it back down. He placed his hands on Bruce’s head and began massaging the scalp, lathering up bubbles in the process.

Bruce tilted his head forward to give Jeremiah better access. He’d never had anyone wash his hair before... It felt nice.

“Tilt your head back, slowly.” Jeremiah cupped the back of Bruce’s head with one hand.

As instructed, Bruce tilted his head back into the water, allowing Jeremiah to guide his actions.

Jeremiah allowed Bruce’s head to lower into the water until the level reached past his ears. He kept the young boy suspended above the warm surface and using his other hand, he combed fingers through dark locks. He alternated between pooling water over Bruce’s hair and then working the shampoo out with stroking motions.

The effect was blissful and Bruce could very well fall asleep.

Thankfully, Jeremiah pushed Bruce’s head up after he was finished and he leaned down, pecking the other’s cheekbone with a kiss.

Bruce forced his eyes open and he had to rub the fatigue away with his hands. He turned his upper body to look at Jeremiah, “Can I wash your hair next?”

Jeremiah raised both eyebrows, the request left him speechless for a few moments. “I…you don’t have to.”

“I know, but I want to.” Bruce was already shifting inside the tub and he was now facing the older man.

“Only if you promise not to do anything silly with my hair, okay?”

“Okay, deal.” Bruce nodded eagerly, already reaching for the bottle of shampoo on the floor.

Jeremiah scooted down in the tub to make it easier for Bruce to reach. He poured water over his face and hair, remaining absolutely still afterwards.

Bruce worked his hands through Jeremiah’s green hair and lathered up shampoo suds. Unable to resist, he started palming the hair, smashing it between both hands, and pulling upwards.

“…..Bruce?”

“Yes?” He worked all of Jeremiah’s hair into a tall rift that traveled along the center hairline.

Jeremiah opened his eyes then and watched Bruce struggle to keep a straight face. This in turn filled him with butterflies and his lips twitched into an amused smile, “Okay… Now you have to tell me, what did you do?”

“I gave you a mohawk, with two little horns on the front and back,” Bruce said, grinning proudly at his work and trying his best not to laugh at the ridiculous sight.

“Oh? A mohawk… hmm, does it suit me? Do I look more frightening?”

“Mhmm” Bruce nodded stiffly until a burst of laughter escaped.

In a flash of movement, Jeremiah had grabbed Bruce by his shoulders and captured his lips with a dominant kiss.

Laughter silenced, Bruce’s eyes widened and his heart literally skipped a beat. He instinctively looped his arms around Jeremiah’s neck and moved his lips in sync with Jeremiah’s own, matching his every movement.

Neither one minded the shampoo-flavored kiss.

 

* * *

 

Now dressed in a soft, comfortable bathrobe, Bruce found himself in bed, cuddled up against Jeremiah’s right side. Bruce had his head resting on Jeremiah’s chest while his eyes focused downward, towards an open book.

Dressed in a similar robe, Jeremiah balanced a hardcover in his left hand while keeping his right arm wrapped around Bruce’s lithe frame. Jeremiah lazily traced circles against Bruce’s hip while reading aloud. “When I have neither pleasure nor pain and have been breathing for a while the lukewarm insipid air of these so called good and tolerable days, I feel so bad in my childish soul that I smash my moldering lyre of thanksgiving in the face of the slumbering god of contentment and would rather feel the very devil burn in me than this warmth of a well-heated room. A wild longing for strong emotions and sensations seethes in me, a rage against this toneless, flat, normal and sterile life. I have a mad impulse to smash something, a warehouse, perhaps, or a cathedral, or myself, to commit outrages, to pull off the wigs of a few revered idols…” Pausing, Jeremiah moved his thumb to turn the page.

“Is this your favorite book?”

Jeremiah glanced down at Bruce, “I suppose it is... Why do you ask?”

Bruce raised his hand and gently trailed his fingers over the faded gold lettering on the front of the book; he read the words ‘Steppenwolf’ earlier. “The cover is worn, and so are the pages.”

“Keen observation Bruce, Herman Hesse is one of my favorite authors and this, in my opinion, is his best work.” Jeremiah nuzzled a kiss against the top of Bruce’s head.

Bruce smiled and he looked up at the other male, “How many times have you read it?”

Jeremiah gave a quick, straightforward answer: “Twenty-eight times.”

“Really?” Bruce’s mouth gaped open in awe.

“Yes, really.” Jeremiah moved his free hand and playfully slipped a finger inside Bruce’s mouth.

“Hey!” Bruce jerked his head away with an angry pout, “Don’t make me bite you again.”

Jeremiah closed the book, set it down on the bed, and he rolled himself over Bruce. Now on his hands and knees, hovering dangerously close to the started male, Jeremiah grinned. “You shouldn’t tease me with a good time Brucie~”

Bruce, helplessly caught up in Jeremiah’s intense gaze, laid there in a motionless trance. Although Jeremiah was grinning, there was nothing friendly about it. Bruce saw a dangerous spark in the other man’s eyes and for some reason he was drawn to it. Like a moth to a flame, Bruce couldn’t resist. He placed his hands on either side of Jeremiah’s face while listening to the sound of his pounding heartbeat. “Jeremiah…”

“Yes, Bruce?” Jeremiah lowered his body, shifting his right leg forward and nudging it between Bruce’s thighs.

Knock.

Knock.

Bruce scrambled to push Jeremiah off, but to no avail.

Jeremiah remained where he was, the grin fading, only to be replaced with an irritated scowl. He missed the theatre; at least nobody interrupted him there. Of course, he was familiar with the double-knock and he huffed out an exasperated sigh. Climbing off Bruce and making sure the tie around his waist was secure, Jeremiah walked over to the door.

“Yes Ecco what is it?” Jeremiah said in a less then friendly tone.

“My apologies for the interruption but-” Placid an unemotional as always, Ecco was holding up a cell phone in her left hand, “-somebody would like to speak to you and he’s not taking no for an answer.”

Jeremiah glanced from Ecco’s inexpressive face to the cell phone in her hand. He can hear an angry voice, that of a man, shouting and cursing loudly. Rolling his eyes, Jeremiah recognized the temperamental bird right away. He plucked the phone from Ecco’s hand and brought it to his ear, “Oswald….this had better be important.”

Angrier screaming forced Jeremiah to hold the phone a few inches away from his ear; he could hear gunfire in the background.

This was serious if it involved guns and erratic shouts, there were more voices in the background- most unidentifiable. Jeremiah turned and addressed Bruce, “Excuse me… I have to take this.”

Sitting up in bed with the blankets wrapped around his waist, Bruce nodded.

Turning back around, Jeremiah strode past Ecco and muttered hastily, “Stay with Bruce.”

Watching Jeremiah disappear down the hall, probably to stay out of earshot from Bruce, Ecco stepped into the bedroom and nudged the door shut with her heel. Without a second thought, the woman walked over to the nearest chair and sat down. She crossed her arms and folded her right leg over the left knee, seemingly observing Bruce but looking past him.

Seeing someone, but not _really_ seeing them, Bruce was familiar with that look. He was quiet and unmoving, as was Ecco.

After ten minutes or so, Bruce decided to break the awkward silence.

“Ecco?”

Blue eyes flickered to meet Bruce’s passive gaze. “Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question? And…will you be honest with me?”

The particular way Bruce phrased his words piqued Ecco’s interest. She lowered her leg and set her foot down on the carpet floor. Both hands find their way to the arm rests and she gave an affirmative nod. “Yes.”

Seeing Ecco ready herself reminded Bruce of an interrogation about to take place. Oh, he certainly hoped that wasn’t the case… However, something had been nagging Bruce, ever since he crossed paths with Jeremiah Valeska. His curiosity always slipped his mind whenever he was around the pale man, hence why he needed to ask someone else to confirm his suspicions. With a drawn out sigh, Bruce maintained eye contact and forced the question out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, I'd like to extend my apologies for taking an unbelievably long time to update! I had writers block there for awhile but, now that I know how the story ends, the updates should come a little sooner ~ (I hope)
> 
> Ooooh have you guys seen the teaser trailers and pics for Season 5 Gotham?! I AM SO HYPED UP! So, I had to include my favorite picture of you-know-who at the end ;)


	9. Chapter 9

“How long have you known Jeremiah?”

Dark, brown eyes narrow on Bruce. “Is that _really_ your question?”

Shaking his head, Bruce looked down at the floor. Ecco reminded him of a female version of Jeremiah; the two had similar mannerisms and the same, monotone voice. That and their intense gaze could burn a hole right through a concrete wall. “I’m building a premise towards the actual question.”  

“Hm.” Ecco studied Bruce’s body language and she decided it would be better to fill the time with conversation as opposed to uncomfortable silence… Uncomfortable for Bruce, not so much herself. “I’ve known him for twelve years, and I lived with him for ten.”

Genuinely surprised, blue eyes flicker back to Ecco. “Over a decade? Wow… Were you two, you know, togeth-”

“Next question.” Ecco interrupted.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Bruce mulled over his next inquiry. “Did Jeremiah know Bruce Wayne?”

Ecco nodded.

“In what context?”

The blonde-haired woman was quiet for a few minutes, considering how to answer. She saw unobstructed curiosity in the young male’s eyes. She wanted to remain objective when giving her answer and not betray Jeremiah through personal feelings. Clearing her throat, Ecco spoke, “They were business partners for a brief time, and you could even say they were friends.” 

“Friends?” Bruce repeated the word in disbelief.

Seeing the boy’s nose wrinkle and frown lines appear, Ecco knew exactly where his mind was eluding. “Jerome Valeska… He did something that changed Jeremiah forever.” Ecco sighed, almost sadly, “Unbeknown to me, that psychopath left a trap in Jeremiah’s work study. It was a box of chemicals, laughing gas, and after Jeremiah was exposed… He became a different person altogether. His demeanor, his physical appearance, and personal feelings were all warped out of proportion.”

Bruce’s features softened and he watched Ecco closely. This was the first time he saw any emotion on her face and it nearly resembled heartache. Swallowing thickly and ignoring the dull ache in his chest, Bruce pushed on. “In the years you’ve known Jeremiah, has he been known to go out of his way for other people?”

“No, I haven’t known Jeremiah to watch out for anyone but himself – prior to laughing gas, and afterwards.”

Looking down at his hands, Bruce visibly fidgeted. He picked at his clean fingernails, the wheels and cogs working overtime in his head. He processed the information, piecing together an understanding of Jeremiah Valeska. “So…. His intentions and feelings for me-”

“Are a result of laughing gas.”

Bruce subtly cringed.

“And,” Ecco added, “Because of your uncanny resemblance to a former friend.”

The raven-haired male fell silent.

Assuming the cross-examination was over, Ecco resumed her previous position by crossing her arms and folding one leg over the other. She couldn’t read Bruce nor did she want to. With the way things were going, it was best to remain neutral.

An uneasy quietude blanketed the air and the two occupants inside the bedroom remained stationary, like statues.

“Thank you,” said Bruce.

Ecco looked from the window, to Bruce. “Excuse me?”

“Your honesty…. It’s appreciated.” Raising his head, Bruce met Ecco’s blank stare. “If I were to ask Jeremiah, he’d probably avoid the topic… or lie.”

Ecco opened her mouth to comment, however, the bedroom door abruptly slammed open.

In walked Jeremiah, dawning a royal purple suit, white dress-shirt, leather shoes, a yellow pastel tie, and a wide brim fedora hat in a deeper shade of purple. He was hastily adjusting his tie and glowering the entire time. “Barbara Kean…what a nuisance,” he grumbled. A string of curses left his crimson lips when the tie wouldn’t knot properly.

Swift footsteps carry Ecco over to Jeremiah and she positioned herself in front of the pale man. She raised black-leather gloved hands and gently pushed Jeremiah’s pale hands away. “Allow me.” Nimble fingers undo the fabric and she re-adjusted the lengths before folding, and tying a symmetrical knot.

It took a lot to unsettle Jeremiah but there were a number of things weighing heavily on his mind. Bruce’s health was his main concern, followed by keeping his region secure from looters and other criminal overlords looking to expand their territory. It would seem Barbara’s men, or women –she didn’t employ men apparently- had crossed over into Oswald Cobblepot’s territory. This wasn’t good, if she located Hugo Strange’s residence… They would all be dead, except for Harriet and Ecco but she was loyal to a fault; they would probably behead her or perform some other archaic act of violence.

Forcing himself to inhale and exhale a deep breath, Jeremiah looked over Ecco’s shoulder and met Bruce’s inquisitive stare.

That is, until Bruce quickly looked away.

The reaction struck Jeremiah as odd.

“Ahem.”

Jeremiah turned around to face Hugo Strange.

The doctor stood there with an impassive expression and his hands folded behind his back. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news…”

Jeremiah’s expression hardened, “Out with it.”

“It would appear the blood transfusions were null, the rate of decomposition is far too rapid. His vital organs are shutting down, causing toxins to build up in his body. In order to buy more time, I need to move Bruce downstairs and hook him up to a dialysis machine.”

The news burned like hot irons against his chest. Jeremiah didn’t express any emotion, although, deep inside, he was riddled with anxiety. Not only was Bruce dying, but there was an army of crazy women heading their way; armed and ready to fight. He needed to make a call and get his own men and arsenal ready.  “Shit.” He was in dire need of a cigarette. “Okay, let me collect Bruce, I’ll meet you down in the basement.”

Hugo nodded and retreated down the hallway.

Ecco stepped out of the way as Jeremiah turned to address the young male.

Bruce was nowhere in sight.

His heart sank and Jeremiah frantically searched the bedroom. “Bruce?!”

Ecco walked over to the bathroom door and opened it, flicking the lights on. She peered into the small space and shook her head, “Empty.”

“Fuck.” Jeremiah felt a panic attack looming nearby. He walked over past the bed and checked the window; sure enough, it was locked. “How…where did he-“

A muffled, gurgled noise came from the bedroom floor, next to the bed.

Jeremiah turned around and saw Bruce curled up on his side, his body convulsing violently against the carpet floor. “BRUCE!” He was at the boy’s side in a flash and he noticed long, red welts covering the neck area.

Bruce clawed at his neck and choked out a single word, “Breathe”

To his horror, Jeremiah realized Bruce was suffocating. He saw a strange substance oozing out of Bruce’s nostrils and mouth. It was some kind of black sludge and the odor was rancid; death, that’s what it smelled like.

“GET HUGO!”

Ecco bolted from the room and raced downstairs.

 

* * *

 

For all of Hugo’s ungodly flaws, the man was a medical practitioner and fairly adept at performing under pressure. In order to clear Bruce’s airway, Hugo inserted two thick needles into the esophagus, followed by plastic tubes. Almost immediately, the murky sludge drained out of the tubes, allowing air to flow through to the lungs.

The blue color in Bruce’s face gradually faded away as he inhaled air and relieved the burning in his body. Once again, he found himself in a lab and laying down over a cold, steel gurney. It wasn’t ideal although he was thankful to be alive right now.

Jeremiah was standing next to Bruce, occasionally reaching down to adjust the robe and cover the younger male up. He was waiting for Harriet to grab blankets, it was dreadfully cold down in the basement – not that Jeremiah noticed. He was far too preoccupied. “Does it hurt?”

Bruce stared up at the ceiling while Jeremiah’s hand stroked his cheekbone. “No.” He could scarcely feel the tubes protruding from his neck. His chest was covered in that disgusting sludge and his nose crinkled at the unpleasant aroma.

“Don’t worry, Harriet is bringing another bath robe. I’ll clean you up,” Jeremiah reassured.

Turning his head to look away from Jeremiah, Bruce said nothing.

The avoidance doesn’t go unnoticed. Disconcerted, Jeremiah shifted his hand away from Bruce’s face and moved down his arm. He pressed his hand over Bruce’s right and squeezed gently, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired… that’s all.”

While Hugo was preparing surgical instruments, he glanced over his shoulder at the two men. “Has the residue leakage ceased?”

Not entirely believing Bruce’s answer, Jeremiah took a closer look at the tubes. “Yes.”

“Good. Remove both tubes and bandage the areas. We’ll use one of the sites for haemodialysis.” 

“Dialysis?” Bruce repeated.

In an effort to avoid dirtying his clothes, Jeremiah unbuttoned his suit jacket and threw it over a metal folding chair. He did the same with his tie and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. “Are you familiar with the treatment?”

“Yes… I’ve gone through haemodialysis and peritoneal dialysis several times.”

“Oh, I see.” Jeremiah wasn’t sure how to respond to the new information. Part of him felt pity for the boy, the other was anger and that was directed at Hugo Strange. He intended to keep his promise and would later murder the doctor – oh, he was going to make the death exceptionally painful and slow. Maybe Bruce would watch. Better yet, he could join in on the fun.

A cell phone started buzzing away in Jeremiah’s jacket pocket, but the man ignored it. He slipped on a pair of blue latex gloves, just as the footsteps descended the basement steps.

Harriet strode down with an armful of blankets and a clean bathrobe. She placed them down on a nearby table and walked over to Hugo. “Do you need any assistance for the procedure?”

“No, I believe I’ll be fine.” Hugo said, casting a knowing gaze at Jeremiah; he had a feeling this process would take a while, especially if Jeremiah refused to let anyone touch Bruce. “You can go back upstairs, I’ll call for you should I need your aid.”

“Okay and what of your other helpers?”

“They’re probably outside on their smoke break, have them thoroughly wash up afterwards and check on the other two patients on the third floor. I want list of vitals.”

“Understood.” Harriet left the basement and went outside to fetch the others.

Bruce carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position.

Jeremiah moved closer, extending his hands to help the raven-haired male.

A hand raised to stop Jeremiah.

Bewildered, the pale man lowered his hands to his sides.

“I can do it. Just grab me a few Band-Aids and alcohol wipes, I can handle the rest.” He swung his legs over the edge of the gurney and stood up. He began working the tie loose around his waist.

“Do you want Hugo to leave the room?” Jeremiah asked, and he continued to hover nearby.

“Why?” Bruce let the robe fall off his shoulders and to the floor. He reached up and gripped one of the plastic tubes, yanking it out in the process. Bits of dark blood spluttered out of the wound, and he repeated the same thing with the second tube.

Jeremiah looked over at the table where Harriet placed the blankets.

Following the concerned gaze, Bruce shook his head. “Not yet. I have to clean this stuff off, it reeks, and besides… Hugo created me, he’s seen me without clothes – more then you have.”

The truth stings, slightly, and Jeremiah gave a curt nod and walked around the gurney. He approached one of Hugo’s tables and located a series of plastic cabinets. He rummaged through them, easily locating Band-Aids and alcohol swabs.

After cutting a piece of synthetic tubing to the appropriate length, Hugo turned and noticed the naked form of the Bruce Wayne clone. Unfazed, he set the plastic tubing down on a steel utility cart. He placed a variety of instruments down and rearranged them to his liking. He wheeled the cart over to a dialysis machine and he double-checked the settings, making sure everything was ready to go; all he had to do was connect Bruce to the machine and the treatment would start.

Jeremiah returned to Bruce’s side but when he attempted to help, he was shooed away.

“I can do it,” Bruce repeated. He grabbed the alcohol wipes from Jeremiah’s hands and ripped a couple of them open. First, he cleaned the wounds around his neck and placed a Band-Aid over them; the bleeding wasn’t copious, due to the thick blood coagulation. Next, he took several alcohol wipes and removed the grotesque sludge off his chest.

Hugo approached the two and with imperturbable composure, he studied Bruce’s naked form. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Months out on the streets will do that.” Bruce shrugged and tossed the alcohol wipes to the side.

Apprehensive about the close proximity, Jeremiah remained by Bruce’s side, ever protective over the younger male. He paid special attention to Bruce’s body language and the tone of his voice, should he express any negative connotations, Jeremiah would intervene.

“Ah, that’s right. You were on your own for quite some time. I really wish you would’ve sought me out, I could’ve provided lodging and adequate meals.”

“Life as a lab rat or life as a street rat? Hmm, I think I chose wisely.”

“Sharp tongue, sharp wit. I’m thrilled that hasn’t changed.” Hugo stepped closer and raised a gloved hand, gingerly touching the Band-Aid over the left side of Bruce’s neck. “This one is closer to the prominent vein in your neck. I’ll insert the tubing here.”

Unbothered, Bruce nodded once.

Feeling as though he were the only one uncomfortable in the room, Jeremiah moved over to the nearby table and grabbed the clean bathrobe. He returned to Bruce and unfolded the robe, only to hold it up for him.

“Thank you.” Bruce turned and slipped his right arm into the sleeve of the robe, followed by his left. He pulled the robe forward over his shoulders and proceeded to tie a secure knot around his waist.

Jeremiah suddenly closed the distance between him and Bruce by wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. He held him from behind and nuzzled his face against the back of Bruce’s shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked, his body tensing up because of the intimate gesture.

“Hugging you.”

“……..” Bruce rested his hands over Jeremiah’s arms and relaxed somewhat.

Hugo sighed impatiently, “If we don’t get started soon, Bruce will-”

“Yes, I know, you don’t have to reiterate.” Jeremiah lowered his arms and slowly withdrew. “Bruce, are you comfortable with Hugo performing the surgery?”

Leaning forward, Bruce climbed onto the gurney and laid back down. He adjusted the robe over his legs and turned his head to look at Jeremiah. “I am. Time is an issue, it would be faster for Hugo to work alone instead of verbally instructing you. Unless, you’re a skilled surgeon?”

“No, I’m not.” Jeremiah heard his cell phone buzzing again.

“You should get that.” Bruce looked up at the ceiling and sighed softly, “Ready.”

Hugo peeled the Band-Aid away and went about to cleaning the area with a cotton swab soaked in rubbing alcohol. Next, he picked up a scalpel and leaned over the gurney, “Turn your head to the right.”

Bruce did as instructed and craned his neck to the right, now facing the concrete wall. He felt pressure against his neck but no pain.

The sharp tip glided across the open wound, enlarging it by half a millimeter. Blood seeped out and Hugo used gauze pads to soak it up.

While Hugo worked on Bruce, Jeremiah grabbed his cell phone out of his suit jacket. He saw numerous text messages and missed calls. Keeping his back turned to the minor surgery, he listened to the voice mails, all of which included a very furious Oswald Cobblepot bellowing into the phone. This was nerve-wracking and beyond stressful. From what he gathered through the voicemails, Barbara was pushing into his territory on the North side of Gotham. The woman had an endless supply of arsenal and plenty of naïve followers willing to do her bidding. Her increased attacks were not tactical; she wasn’t demanding money, guns, medicine, or any dangerous chemicals. She was going stark raving mad in her attempts to rid the city of men.

Great.

Jeremiah deleted the last voicemail and turned around. To his amazement, Hugo completed the procedure.

Surgical tape held the tube in place against Bruce’s neck. An extended tube, connected with the shorter one, ran across Bruce’s body and into the dialysis machine. The machine itself was humming with life, and it displayed a cohesive chart on Bruce’s vitals. Jeremiah noticed other items; a pulse oximeter on his fingertip, a sphygmomanometer around his right arm, and an oxygen hose inserted into his nostrils.

Bruce was calm and he stared blankly up at the concrete ceiling. “That sounded urgent.”

“Huh? Oh, the messages…yes, it’s somewhat urgent but-” He approached Bruce’s side and placed his hand over the boy’s head, ruffling up his hair a little, “-you’re far more important than a war over territory.”  

Removing the bloody gloves and tossing them in a trash bin, Hugo cleared his throat. “Ahem, I’m going upstairs to wash up. I’ll see if the housemaid prepared anything to eat and if so, I’ll send Harriet down.” The doctor was unconcerned with whatever was going on outside the walls of the house. Oswald was kind enough to gift him the place and allow him to continue his work. He had a paramount of confidence in the ex-mayor and that he would continue to provide a wall of safety from the other criminals overtaking the city.

Neither Bruce nor Jeremiah acknowledges the doctor, who left the basement in a chipper mood.

Hearing the door close, Bruce let his blue eyes hover on the pale face above him. “I need to ask you a question.”

Jeremiah quirked an eyebrow and he tucked the cell phone into his back pants pocket. He crossed his arms over the gurney and leaned closer to Bruce, “Ask away.”

Bruce raised his arms and gently looped them around Jeremiah’s neck.

Feeling the urgent pull, Jeremiah shifted closer and he pushed his hands underneath Bruce’s shoulders.

The raven-haired male pressed his forehead against Jeremiah’s own before greeting the older male with a soft kiss.

Pleasantly surprised by the affection, Jeremiah tilted his head and pushed into the kiss to deepen it.

As soon as Bruce felt Jeremiah’s venturing tongue, he broke the kiss and remained close, allowing his lips to barely graze the other. “Full disclosure, okay?”

Somewhat disappointed the kiss ended so quickly, absinthe green eyes focus on the blue pools in front of him. “Was that kiss my incentive?”

“No, of course not.” Bruce smiled, “I was in desperate need to taste your lips again.”  

Jeremiah’s heart fluttered and he made to close the gap between their lips, only for the stubborn teenager to turn his head. He ended up kissing Bruce’s cheek and laughed afterwards, “Haha! Ask me right now so we can kiss again~”

Bruce lowered his arms and placed his hands on either side of Jeremiah’s face. He pulled the other male back up a little and Bruce turned his head once more to face him. “That night… when we first met.”

“Yes, I recall.” Jeremiah tilted his head and nuzzled a kiss against Bruce’s wrist.

As painful as the answer might be, Bruce swallowed his nervousness and continued, “You mistook me for Bruce Wayne, one of your old companions.”

“Mhmm~” Obviously not paying attention, Jeremiah parted his lips and lightly sucked on the pulse point.

Those gorgeous red lips sent a chill through Bruce but in his pursuit for the truth, he ignored his desire to give into Jeremiah. Taking in a deep breath, the question came out as a breathy whisper. “Had I resembled anyone else, somebody you’ve never met before, what course of action would you have taken?”

Jeremiah paused.

Bruce waited.

The older man cautiously turned his gaze back to meet Bruce’s own. When he saw the beautiful blue hues, his heart began to race. His mouth became parched and dry, a sandpaper tongue did little to voice out his response, “I.... nothing… I might have …just left-”

“Stop.” Bruce frowned and his voice took on a cold, inexpressive tone, “I have NEVER lied to you and don’t you think, for one moment, that you’re doing me a favor by withholding the truth. I don’t want to spend my last days with a shameless liar.”

If words could kill, Jeremiah would be dead. It felt as though someone took a branding iron and jabbed him in the chest multiple times.

Seconds painstakingly stretched into minutes and the silence was deafening.

Finally, Jeremiah conceded.

“If you were anyone else besides Bruce Wayne…. I would have shot you in the head and chest, and left your body to rot next to the abandoned gas station.”

It wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear although Bruce knew exactly what Jeremiah was going to say. He had to hear it aloud and from the man himself… Ecco wasn’t lying and Bruce was a fool for believing in a fantasy conjured up by a man who didn’t see him – couldn’t see him. The only person Jeremiah saw was Bruce Wayne and not the artificial creature he truly was.

Fearful that he may cry, Bruce looked the other way. He let go of Jeremiah’s face and lowered his hands to his sides. “I thought so, I just….needed to hear it from you.”

“Bruce-“Jeremiah timidly pressed a kiss against the sharp jawline.  

Disregarding the kiss, Bruce added, “Please leave. I need some time to myself.”

“I don’t want to leave you…” Jeremiah said softly.

Bruce remains silent.

“I’m sorry Bruce… I-I was honest, doesn’t that count for something? I would never, EVER hurt you.” Jeremiah’s voice faltered and he desperately kissed Bruce’s neck, while one of his hands stroked up and down the boy’s exposed thigh.

All attempts to elicit a response are in vain. Bruce might as well be a dead corpse. If not for the dialysis machine displaying his heart rate, one wouldn’t be able to tell he was breathing.

“PLEASE!” Jeremiah begged.

Bruce closed his eyes. “Don’t come down here unless I approve of it first. Should you ignore my request, I’ll rip this tube out of my neck and disappear for good.”

Jeremiah put his hands on the edge of the gurney and stood up. None of this felt real… It had to be a dream, yes, a very bad, and a very painful dream. He walked away, completely forsaking his suit jacket, tie, and hat.  The painful blow to his pride and heart was enough to crush any man to pieces... He wasn't just _any_ man and he sure as hell wasn't as sane as he pretended to be. He could keep it together though, right? He was a good actor, right?

_We all could go insane with just one bad day~_

Nearing the top of the stairs, Jeremiah chanced one more glance.

Bruce had his eyes closed but he was curled up on his side, with his back to the stairs and door.

Trying to block out the gravelly laughter inside his head, Jeremiah exited the basement.


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

Destroy everything you touch today   
Destroy me this way   
Anything that may desert you   
So it cannot hurt you

You only have to look behind you   
At who's underlined you   
Destroy everything you touch today   
Destroy me this way

Everything you touch you don't feel   
Do not know what you steal   
Shakes your hand   
Takes your gun   
Walks you out of the sun

What you touch do not feel   
Do not know what you steal   
Destroy everything you touch today   
Please destroy me this way~

 

"[Destroy Everything You Touch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a5ke731a3V8)" by Ladytron 

 

* * *

 

Days stretched into a week and in that time, Bruce never left the basement, nor did he allow Jeremiah visitation.

Outraged and distraught, Oswald Cobblepot paid the house a visit and demanded assistance in dealing with Barbara and Tabitha. Having collected Intel on the growing army, Oswald discovered an array of new recruits and among those included Firefly, Mother and Orphan, and Lady Shiva.

A force to be reckoned with, Barbara’s militia pushed their way into surrounding territories. It didn’t matter who stood in their way, be it innocent civilians, police officers, other convicts, they were murdered because of their gender. Women and children were spared, and often recruited.

Refusing to leave the house, the pale man compromised and sent half of his men and arsenal to aid Oswald. The remainder of his henchman stayed at Hugo Strange’s residence, safeguarding the home from all who ventured too close.

Seeing as how the bird wasn’t on good terms with the hitman, Jeremiah took the initiative and went ahead to hire Victor Zsasz and the Zsaszettes.

With the deadly assassin on their side, the body count steadily rose.

Parts of the city were being reclaimed, thanks to local law enforcement and outside help. The East end district had power and a few Gothamites returned to their living dwellings by using ferries whose drivers are brave enough to chance it in the water. The GCPD and S.W.A.T. team worked diligently in clearing out the other areas of the city and arresting notorious criminals along the way.

At Hugo’s home on the top floor, there is a balcony that overlooks the city, providing an ideal view of the roads.

Positioned in the left corner with a sniper rifle, Ecco scours the streets below for any signs of movement.

Jeremiah stands on the opposite side with a similar firearm and he utilizes the scope to get a closer look at the other buildings.

Somebody moved across the rooftop of an old pawn shop.  

BANG!

A singular bullet tore into the air, shattering the tranquility of the evening air.

From behind his 300 Win Mag, Jeremiah observes a woman falling over backwards onto her back; the bullet hit between her eyes. A kill shot. “One of Barbara’s scouts,” he mumbled.

“She’s been sending more of them lately, most of them untrained citizens. Just innocent women she probably picked up on the streets and forced into recruitment.” Ecco found no joy in what they were doing. The dead woman on the rooftop was somebody’s daughter, or sister, and quite possibly she had little ones waiting for her outside the city. Not everybody made the evacuation and the remaining people were unwittingly thrown into a war they never wanted to be apart of. As much as she disagreed, she kept her personal feelings to herself. Jeremiah was everything to her, and she would remain loyal.

Garbage cans fall over on the street below.

Ecco slipped her finger around the trigger and pulled.

BANG!

The unsuspecting man collapsed onto his side. His body convulsed, and he clawed at his chest. The bullet grazed his vital organs but hit an artery close to his heart. He bled out all over on the dirty alleyway floor and eventually stopped moving.

“Elderly male, appears homeless.” Ecco commented.

Jeremiah hummed in acknowledgement, today yielded nine deaths for him and seven for Ecco. The two guarded the front of the building while Jeremiah’s men covered the back. It had been a difficult week for the pale man because of Bruce’s refusal to see him. He had to admit, it was killing him inside. He understood why the teenager was upset with him and he wanted to make up for it. He sent gifts down to Bruce, things like clothing, extravagant food and treats, cologne, intricate puzzles, electronic devices with an assortment of music and movies, and just about every joke orientated book he could get his hands on.

Nothing.

Bruce always sent the same message back with Ecco- or Harriet- that he wasn’t up for a visit.

Hugo removed Bruce several times from dialysis but as the days went on, it became evident the boy couldn’t go twenty-four hours without the machine filtering out the toxins in his body. He became very ill if he went past the twenty-four mark and so, it made logical sense that he resided in the basement for now.

To say he was frustrated was an understatement. All he could think about was Bruce, about holding him, kissing him, reading to him, bathing him, and listening to those Godawful puns. He missed Bruce. He _needed_ Bruce. Jeremiah thought about how perfect things were before Bruce asked him that horrible question. What prompted it? Everything was going so well between the two…

A flash of movement caught his eye and Jeremiah shifted the sniper rifle in a new direction, only to see a flock of pigeons flying overhead.

Come to think of it… Bruce’s behavior was strange, but it was after their bath. Jeremiah recalled how cozy they were on the bed and how badly he wanted to rip that bath robe off. He was hovering over Bruce, pushing his legs apart and while the boy cupped his face, right before-

“Ecco?”

“Yes?” Ecco leaned back from the scope on her firearm and looked at Jeremiah.

Confident nobody else would be wandering the streets this late at night, Jeremiah leaned back against the wooden railing. He rested his elbows on either side of the rail and turned his pale, emotionless eyes on the woman across from him. “That day, when Oswald called for me and I took the phone call to another room… What did you and Bruce talk about?”

Sensing they were done for the night, or taking a break, Ecco lowered her hands from the sniper rifle and focused on Jeremiah. “You, mostly.”

“Me?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes. Bruce wanted to know more about you.”

“Why couldn’t he ask me?” Jeremiah inquired.

“Oh, well…” Ecco glanced to the side, “He was concerned you would avoid the questions or fabricate something.”

“I see.” Jeremiah let the information sink in. It baffled him that Bruce would think such a thing. Why would the raven-haired male trust Ecco more then him? She wasn’t the one putting her life down for Bruce. She wasn’t the one risking part of the city. She didn’t have a reputation to uphold, and she certainly wasn’t upset about Bruce’s deteriorating health. This aggravated the pale man.

“It must’ve been a fairly interesting conversation because afterwards, Bruce inquired if I would’ve killed him – if he resembled anyone else besides Bruce Wayne.”

Noticing the icy edge in Jeremiah’s voice, Ecco raised her gaze and stared at the other.

When Ecco didn’t respond, Jeremiah pushed away from the wood railing and he took a few steps closer. “What did you say to him?”

The closer Jeremiah got, the more Ecco backed away. There wasn’t much room and before she knew it, her body was in contact with the wooden rail. Her mind was working overtime to come up with an answer that wouldn’t upset Jeremiah. She could see it, a lethal glow in his eyes and it made her stomach tighten up into painful knots. “I told him about your existing friendship with Bruce Wayne, he asked…and I answered.”

Jeremiah closed the remaining distance between them until he was hovering directly in front of Ecco, their bodies nearly touching. He leaned forward, placing a hand on either side of her and gripping the edge of the rail, essentially trapping her. Those absinthe green eyes of his flashed dangerously as he spoke, “What else did you tell him?  

Having never experienced this side to Jeremiah before, Ecco was beyond petrified. She didn’t express it, however, and she did her best to remain composed. She maintained eye-contact while speaking, using the familiar monotone she adapted years ago. “I know how much you care for Bruce, and I would _never_ jeopardize that Jeremiah. You know I wouldn’t.”

“Do I?” He cocked his head to the side.

Ecco could feel his breathe against her face and despite the terror, she found herself mesmerized by the pale man. She nodded eagerly, “You do…. All the years we’ve spent together, you know me far better then you know him.”

“Ah…” Jeremiah beamed with a mixture of delight and pride. “I had an inkling jealousy was at play.” He raised his left hand and gently trailed his fingers along the side of Ecco’s neck. “You manipulated him. You turned him against me.”

“Jeremiah… I swear, I did no such thing.” Ecco’s unemotional façade was dwindling, and her bottom lip began to quiver.

“Are you certain? Because after _that_ day, Bruce doubted my feelings for him. I’ve never left you alone with him before and the one time I do…. He dismisses me entirely.” Jeremiah raised his right hand and traced fingers against the opposite side of Ecco’s neck. “You have such a pretty neck~” he cooed.

“Jeremiah-” Ecco trembled, “-I love you and when you love someone, you don’t go out of your way to hurt them.”

“Mmm, you’re wrong there. When you love someone, you put them through excruciating pain to test their loyalty and devotion.” Jeremiah wrapped both hands around Ecco’s neck, “That way…. You know if it’s _real_.”

Ecco could feel Jeremiah’s lower body pressing against her, and she tried to lean back to lesson the grip around her neck. “Don’t…. I didn’t turn him against you! I fucking swear on my parent’s graves Jeremiah- “The woman clawed at Jeremiah’s face and she purposely shoved her fingers into his eyes.

Jeremiah pulled his head back and he jerked it to the side, a pleased giggle left his crimson lips. “Very neat! That ugly head of yours _does_ have a brain!” He squeezed tighter.

The lack of oxygen was starting to affect her eyesight. She tried to go for his eyes again, but Jeremiah only ducked his head out of the way and she ended up grabbing at the empty air. Her heart rate was off the charts and in a moment of panic, she grabbed Jeremiah’s wrists and tried to pry them away.

Laughing at the feeble attempts, Jeremiah ground his fingers into Ecco’s neck. Why, he could feel the tough cartilage outlining her trachea. “HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!”

A burning sensation filled Ecco’s chest and her mouth repeatedly opened and closed, attempting to capture some minuscule amount of oxygen. She clawed at Jeremiah’s gloved hands and his arms. Nothing would make the man release his grip. Eventually, her eyes rolled back and her face turned a sickly blue color.

Jeremiah watched in pleasure, a big grin dancing across his chalk-white face.


	11. Chapter 11

“Oh my…. How did this happen?” asked Harriet.

Seated on a leather recliner with an irritated scowl, Ecco muttered “I fell.”

“Fell?” Skeptical, Harriet and Hugo exchange curious glances.

“From the balcony?” Hugo eyed the unsightly ring of bruises around the woman’s neck.

Ecco nodded stiffly, “Yes.”  Her dark brown eyes bore into the back of Jeremiah’s head.

Standing by the window, Jeremiah kept his back turned to the group and surveyed the area outside. He had his hands behind his back and periodically tapped gloved fingers together; his thoughts were on Bruce. He could feel Ecco’s burning gaze on him but paid no attention to it. Red welts decorated his face, and some were very deep, leaving traces of dry blood. When Hugo inquired about it, Jeremiah shrugged and offered no explanation.

“I see, how unfortunate. Let me go grab you an ice pack.” Harriet left for the kitchen.

Hugo wasn’t quite sure what to make of the violent behavior. It was obvious the two experienced an altercation but neither one acknowledged it. The doctor questioned Jeremiah’s sanity and if not seeing Bruce had a negative effect on it.

The door slammed open and in walked a group of men.

Hugo turned, “Mr. Cobblepot.”

Jeremiah glanced to the side.

“Hugo-” Oswald trailed off when he saw Jeremiah’s face. His eyes widened in surprise, “What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” Jeremiah turned his pale orbs back to the window.

“……That doesn’t look like _nothing_.” Oswald looked past Hugo and spotted Jeremiah’s consort, including the bruises on her neck.

Standing up from the chair, Ecco shot Oswald an angry glare, “Don’t ask.”

Oswald rolled his eyes, “Hm, quite an interesting evening you’ve all had.”

“Indeed.” Hugo adjusted his pink-tinted glasses.

“Is it ready?” Oswald asked, his blue eyes landing on the doctor again.

“We can certainly check.” Hugo looked over to see Harriet carrying a tray containing an ice pack and a bowl of chicken rice soup. “I’ll need your assistance with Mr. Jones.”

“Huh? But what about Bruce’s dinner?” Harriet paused.

Ecco walked over to the pre-med student and grabbed the ice pack from the tray. Pressing it against her neck, the woman held out her hand. “I’ll take it down to him.”

“Okay, thank you.” Harriet carefully balanced the tray on Ecco’s hand. “There’s generic painkillers in the kitchen cupboard, in case you’re sore.” She walked around Ecco and followed Hugo Strange to the first flight of stairs.

Oswald, glancing once more from Ecco to Jeremiah, turned on his heels and moved over to the stairs.

The henchman followed suit.

Ecco made to leave the work study.

“Ecco.”

She stopped.

Jeremiah remained at the window, “Ask Bruce… If I can see him tonight.”

Not bothering to respond, Ecco stepped out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Bruce was sitting on a round arm sofa when he heard footsteps. He looked up from his book and saw a familiar face. “Good evening Ecco.”

“Evening.” Ecco walked to the end of the sofa and set the tray down on a rolling table. “Chicken and rice soup.”

“Sounds delicious.” Bruce closed the book and set it down on the couch. He stood up and re-adjusted the blue cotton housecoat he was wearing; underneath he had comfortable pajama bottoms and a clean t-shirt. Everything Bruce wore was brand new and thanks to Jeremiah’s generosity, the basement had a warm, homey feel to it. Still, it couldn’t hide the fact that this was a prison and Bruce was confined to it, literally.

“She forgot the utensils, I’ll grab it.” Ecco walked across the room to the cupboards. She opened the furthest one on the left and retrieved a plastic spoon and a couple napkins.

“Much appreciated.” Bruce checked the tube against his neck, making sure it was secure, and then shifted over to the rolling table. The soup smelled good and it made his stomach growl in anticipation. “The housemaid, I really like her cooking.”

Ecco returned and she set the spoon and napkins down, next to the bowl.

Bruce hadn’t paid much attention to the gel icepack, he assumed it was for a headache or something. Now that he was close enough, he saw the ring of bruises around Ecco’s neck. “What…what happened?”

The observation resulted in Ecco tensing up. “Nothing,” she muttered, and she arranged the ice pack over the center of her neck to hide the bruised skin. “I fell…off the balcony.” She kept her gaze averted by staring at the floor.

That was a _terrible_ explanation, but Bruce kept the thought to himself. He recognized the hand-shaped bruises, having had his fair share back at Indian Hill. Riddled with guilt, the teenager pushed the table aside and he walked up to Ecco. Hands reach out and gently cup the woman’s face, tilting her chin up just a bit so the two could face each other.

The touch surprised her and Ecco hesitantly met Bruce’s gaze.  

“What happened?” Bruce repeated, softer this time. He moved his fingers and tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind the woman’s ear.

Having never been this close to Bruce before, Ecco noticed that his eyes were not identical; one was a deeper shade of blue and the other had light specs of green. They were breathtakingly beautiful. Bruce had such a compassionate and endearing expression that the idea of lying to him physically hurt. Ecco sighed and smiled weakly, “Why can’t a girl be nice to a guy without the mook trying to murder her?”

“I’m so sorry Ecco, this is all my fault.” Bruce’s voice wavered slightly, he felt awful for what Ecco was going through. “He’s angry at me and now he’s taking it out on you.”

Those doe-like eyes, filled with grief and heartache, moved Ecco. She set the icepack down on the edge of the table and reached up, mirroring Bruce by cupping his face. “Don’t cry Bruce, not for me.”

“Why? Real men cry, and you haven’t seen my waterworks yet.”

Ecco chuckled lightly.

Bruce smiled a little, he couldn’t believe how soft and warm Ecco’s hands were; not what he expected from a dangerous woman like herself. “Your voice….”

“What about it?” Ecco lowered one hand to Bruce’s shoulder and the other shifted higher to push a stubborn curl aside.

“I thought I heard a Brooklyn tinge… You’re from New York? Or one of the outer boroughs?”

“You caught that?!” Ecco was in disbelief. Besides Jeremiah, nobody caught the accent she attempted to mask. It was a work-related move. When she first ventured out of state, nobody would take her seriously with her Brooklyn drawl. Supervisors associated it with incompetence, and so she opted for a monotone. “You have a good ear…. I’m impressed.”

“Heh, thanks. I like it, you should use it more often.”

“My accent?”

“Yes.” Bruce nodded.

The woman fell silent. She searched Bruce’s eyes, certain he was teasing her. When she didn’t find cruelty or indifference, Ecco leaned forward and pressed her lips against Bruce’s own.

The gesture shocked Bruce but after a moment of consideration, he tilted his head and leaned into the kiss. He pushed his tongue out and cautiously ventured into Ecco’s mouth, taking note of the sweet flavor on her lips – it tasted like strawberries.

Pleasantly surprised, Ecco captured Bruce’s tongue between her lips and sucked on it lightly.

This elicited a soft gasp and Bruce trembled.

Gripping the boy’s shoulders, Ecco walked him backwards, guiding him towards the couch. As soon as they were close enough, the woman pushed him down on his back.

With the kiss broken, Bruce willingly laid down on the couch and he watched Ecco climb on top of him. He missed the warmth of her lips and whispered, “Kiss me.”

Ecco obliged and she leaned over Bruce, meeting his mouth with an intense kiss.

Bruce moved his lips in sync, their tongues mingling, and they filled the room with panting noises while they tried to catch a quick breath. Then, Ecco started grinding her hips against his groin. He tensed up and moaned against her mouth.

The pleasure-filled moan shook Ecco to her very core. Overcome with desire, she stopped rubbing herself against Bruce and leaned back. Nimble hands work quickly to undo the housecoat and after opening it, Ecco slipped one hand underneath his pants.  

Bruce gasped when he felt Ecco’s hand wrap around his length, followed by vigorous stroking. The raven-haired male closed his eyes and began to thrust into Ecco’s hand. Being touched again…. It felt so good. He wanted to give in to the pleasure, let it envelope him, and take him far away from the basement. He missed it all, the touching, the kissing, the hugs, but most of all, he missed _him_.

_Jeremiah pulled away from his ear and touched his lips to his, letting Bruce swallow his words whole. "Bruce....Bruce.....Bruce, I need you~" He slowly pulled his hips back and pushed back inside the boy._

_They shifted like an earthquake, like something natural and terrible, coming together so there was no space between them._

_“Jeremiah,” Bruce breathed again. He whimpered, pressing forward. “Thank you."_

“S-stop.”

Ecco froze.

Blinking his eyes open, the flustered teen reached down and gently wrapped his hand around Ecco’s wrist. He pulled her hand out of his pants and met her confused gaze, “I’m sorry…. I can’t do this to Jeremiah.”

“Oh…I understand.” Embarrassed and ashamed at her behavior, Ecco hastily covered Bruce’s waist with the house coat. “I’m s-sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you-”

Without warning, Bruce took Ecco into his arms and pulled her down into a fierce bear hug. He rested his chin on her shoulder and sighed softly, “Please don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not mad at you at all.”

The tension in Ecco’s body slowly seeped away, and feeling comforted by the hug, Ecco relaxed against Bruce’s chest. “Okay…”

The two remain like that for quite some time. Their heart rates returned to normal, Bruce’s face wasn’t so red anymore, and Ecco barely noticed the dull throb around her neck.

Turning his head, Bruce pressed a kiss against blonde locks. “Ecco… I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

“I know.”

“Then help me.”

Ecco raised her head and peered down at Bruce. “What do you need me to do?”

“Jeremiah… I need you get him away from the house.”

“That’s going to be…. difficult.” Ecco shook her head, “He’s adamant about staying.”

“Hm…” Bruce thought for a moment, “I think… I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

The basement door opened and out stepped Ecco with the food tray and an empty bowl.

Jeremiah was waiting around in the hallway and he turned when heard the sound. “What did Bruce say?”

Ecco looked over at the pale man, “He wants a book.”

“A book? I’ve sent him dozens.” Jeremiah visibly frowned.

“Yes, and he’s thankful for that.” Ecco turned her head to stare at the dark window; it was close to midnight. “He said it’s a joke book that he found back at the theater. He wants you to get it for him.”

“I’ll send one of my men-“

“No.” Ecco’s attention snapped back to Jeremiah. “Bruce specifically asked if YOU could get the book for him. Once you get back, he wants to sit down and read it with you.”

Jeremiah paused, a cell phone in one hand with his thumb hovering over the ‘call’ button. He studied Ecco’s serious expression before nodding, “Fine. I’ll retrieve the book and you'll stay here with Bruce.”

“Understood.” Ecco nodded.

Without saying another word, Jeremiah left and made his way to the entrance door. His body language didn’t convey it, but his heart was racing with joy and exhilaration. He was going to see Bruce, finally.


	12. Chapter 12

Shedding the blue house coat and the rest of his underclothes, Bruce layered on a black polo shirt, a matching crew sweater, jeans, and a jet-black trench coat. Using the reflection from a concave mirror in the corner of the room, the teenager styled his hair. If he was going to die, then he wanted to look his best; he wasn’t sure if was a result of vanity or if he was doing it for someone else. Nonetheless, he brushed his teeth, washed his face, and threw a silver wrist watch on. While preparing for his departure, the teenager replayed a conversation he had with Hugo.

_“You can’t cure me, can you?”_

_“No, I cannot. I’m only prolonging the inevitable.”_

_“Then why did you tell Jeremiah Valeska you could?”_

_Hugo quirked an eyebrow, “Excuse me? Have you met the man? I’m not too keen on dying, the truth wasn’t a viable option.”_

_Bruce frowned, “So that’s it? I’m just going to die in a cold basement with a tube in my neck?”_

_“I’m sorry, I wish I could tell you there’s a silver lining… but it does not exist, and you will die, very soon.” Hugo checked the dialysis machine and recorded Bruce’s vitals on a clipboard._

_The basement door opened, and Harriet descended the steps with a tray full of food. “Good afternoon Bruce, I’ve got a hot turkey sandwich here with mashed potatoes on the side.”_

_Shifting on the gurney, Bruce sat up and watched Harriet. “Good afternoon. Can you leave it on the table? I’m not hungry right now.”_

_“Sure thing!” Harriet set the tray down as instructed and she moved over to Bruce’s side. “How are you feeling? Any discomfort?”_

_“I’m fine.”_

_“You look tired,” Harriet commented._

_“A steel gurney isn’t exactly comfortable,” Bruce said with a shrug._

_“How right you are.” Harriet tapped a finger against her chin, “Jeremiah has offered to buy a sofa, and have it moved down here. Might be easier to sleep on that instead of a gurney.”_

_“Oh…” Bruce considered it. He didn’t feel comfortable accepting gifts but if it meant a few hours of sleep -which was currently impossible- then he’d gladly take the pale man up on his offer. “Sure, a sofa would be fine.”_

_Harriet nodded, “Wonderful. I will let him know….” The woman paused and glanced down at her nails._

_“What is it?”_

_“Jeremiah….” Harriet looked back up, “He wants to see you. Will you grant him an audience this evening?”_

_Bruce responded with a curt, “No.” He grabbed a thin wool blanket as he adjusted himself and laid back down on the steel bed._

_“Oh…” Harriet fidgeted, she wasn’t looking forward to giving Jeremiah the news. “Should I tell him anything else?”_

_“I don’t care,” Bruce mumbled, now pulling the blanket over his head. “Make up something, it doesn’t matter to me.”_

_Hugo was thankful not to be in Harriet’s position. After clearing all the vitals, the doctor excused himself._

_Sighing, Harriet followed the elder male up the stairs and out of the basement._

The last item Bruce slipped on was a pair of black leather gloves; it was going to be cold outside, what with the lack of sun. He checked the time on the watch and it read 3:17 a.m., that meant he had 24 hours to put as much distance as he could between him and Hugo Strange. If everything worked out, Jeremiah wouldn’t find him and drag him back to the godforsaken basement. He wasn’t going to die here, that much was certain.

It’s 3:25 a.m. when Bruce yanks the tube out of his neck and covers the area up with a large Band-Aid. By 3:30 a.m. he ascends the basement steps and enters the main hallway to find Ecco, Harriet, and Hugo Strange waiting.

Hugo stepped forward, “Bruce-”

Ecco withdrew a Glock 17 and aimed it at Hugo’s chest.

Bruce came to a halt.

The doctor calmly raised his hands. “I’m not here to interfere with your decision to leave, simply to provide a warning. Without the dialysis machine, toxins will build up in your body at a faster rate and you’ll die before the 24-hour mark.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Bruce glanced at his watch, “Which is why I need to go now, before Jeremiah returns.”

“It will be excruciatingly painful,” Hugo continued. “The toxins latch onto your neurotransmitters and stimulate pain receptors. I know you’re not accustomed to physical pain, but this particular death WILL hurt you.”

“Thank you for the pleasant update.” Bruce looked at Ecco, “You can lower the gun. He isn’t going to stop me – no one can.” 

Nodding, Ecco holstered the gun.

“In the wake of your departure we will  _all_  suffer Jeremiah’s wrath.” Hugo lowered his hands to his sides.

Blue eyes narrow on the older man, “I’m not the one who lied to him. If anyone is going to suffer, it’ll be you.”

Hugo tutted but said nothing more on the subject.

“Goodbye Bruce” said Harriet.

“Goodbye Harriet.” Bruce nodded to the woman before stepping around Ecco and walking towards the front door.

Turning on her heels, Ecco followed Bruce down the hallway and to the front door.

Once outside, a wave of frigid air greets the pair. Bruce pulled the coat tightly around his body whereas Ecco rubbed her hands together.

“Everything Hugo said back there.... Is it true?”

Bruce turned around to face to the blonde and nodded, “Yes.”

“And you’re okay with it? I mean… You don’t  _have_  to be alone in this, Bruce.”

A peculiar smile danced across Bruce’s lips, it’s almost sympathetic, and almost mournful. “When Hugo Strange resurrected me from the dead, I awoke with no memory of my past life. I don’t know who my family is, or if they’re even alive. I don’t know if I had friends, or if I was a loner that kept to myself. I wasn’t given anything except a number… Absolved of my past, I was born into loneliness and that’s exactly how I should go.”

The wind picked up and it howled through the night air, clawing at Bruce’s jacket and pushing strands of blonde hair across Ecco’s face.

It had never really occurred to her the life Bruce might have had, prior to waking up at Indian Hill. To have no one, no family members, and not a single memory to visit… It must be lonely and heartbreaking. From what Jeremiah told her, this wasn’t Bruce’s real face – he went through multiple surgeries just to resemble another person, a REAL person with a name and identity. Poor Bruce, his short life was the very definition of a travesty and the one person who loved him wanted to keep him locked up in a cage. She empathized with the younger male and his decision to flee; she only wished she could do more for him.

Unzipping her jacket, Ecco reached into the folds and retrieved a leather hand clutch from the inner pocket. She zipped her coat back up and opened the clutch to reveal three glass syringes. “I want you to take one of these, just as a precaution.” She picked up a syringe and held it out to Bruce, “The needle tip has a resin seal, easy to remove.”

Bruce reached over and grabbed the syringe from her hand. “What is it?”

“Morphine and cyanide. Morphine is for the pain…. should it become unbearable, and cyanide will hinder oxygen flow in your body and the cells die out faster. With your deteriorating health, death should be instantaneous.”

The explanation was shocking. Bruce gaped at the older woman, seemingly in awe. “Why do you have these?”

Closing the hand clutch and tucking it back into the inner pocket, Ecco addressed the question with a shrug. “It’s a backup plan, in case I’m ever captured by one of our enemies.” She met Bruce’s curious stare with a genuine smile, “I would never allow someone to use me against Jeremiah. I’d take my own life before betraying the man I love.”

“Ecco-”

Closing the distance between them, Ecco looped her arms around Bruce’s waist and pulled him in for a hug.

Bruce automatically wrapped his arms around Ecco’s shoulders and held her close.

“You love Jeremiah too,” Ecco whispered. She turned her head and pressed her face against Bruce’s warm neck, inhaling slowly; the teenager smelled like a mixture of disinfectants and a faint, floral undertone. The scent reminded her of a hospital. “That’s why you’re leaving. You don’t want to die in front of him… You don’t want to cause him pain.”

“He deserves someone better- someone healthy-” Bruce’s voice suddenly cracked and the emotions he’d been bottling up for days began to seep into his chest. It hurt, everything hurt, but mostly his heart. He forced his eyes shut, feeling hot tears prick the corners. He exhaled a trembling breath before addressing one of his concerns, “Y-you’ll be okay? When he gets back....”

“I’ll be fine Bruce. Don’t worry your pretty little head.” Ecco rubbed Bruce’s back in a reassuring manner before withdrawing from the embrace.

Bruce chuckled lightly and he lowered his arms, taking a step back to wipe his hand across his eyes. “Jeremiah said something like that, on the first night we met.”

The words strike a sensitive chord and Ecco’s smile faded. She resumed an apathetic expression and her dark brown eyes focused on the blue hues across from her. “Goodbye Bruce.”

“Goodbye Ecco.” He backed away.

The blonde-haired woman turned and walked over to the front door, paying little mind to the receding footsteps.

 

* * *

*Cough* Please excuse this brief interruption.... 

Had this song on repeat while detailing the rest of the scenes. It's cute, sweet, innocent, and kind of sad. 

"[A Sweet Song About Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTHcpuW2JbE)" by  Sleep Party People

Okay, please continue reading :3

* * *

 

Gasoline.

Burning leather.

Paint chemicals, perhaps from an aerosol can.

Bruce had been walking around the streets of Gotham City; a few hours have passed since he left Hugo’s residence. He constantly checked the time on his watch, waiting for 5:30am to roll around. He stayed off the freeway and opted for the less traveled routes that cut across dirty alleyways, most of the back roads are littered with potholes.

About half a mile ahead, he spotted two vehicles engulfed in flames and the hoodlums responsible were swift to flee when they saw Bruce. Unsure as to what prompted the fearful reaction, Bruce decides not to question it and simply treks on.

Entering an empty, ransacked pawn shop, Bruce discovered a flight of stairs in the back and it connected to an upstairs apartment. There was no life inside the building, whoever lived there probably fled during the emergency evacuation. He located a window in the master bedroom and discovered a fire escape that led to the roof.

Perfect.

It’s 5:47AM and Bruce found himself on top of the building, seated on the edge with his legs dangling over the brick wall.

The sun slowly crawled up into the sky, chasing away darkness and stars. The fiery ball peeked out behind two skyscrapers in the distance, casting everything else in a gold hue.

Leaning back on his hands, Bruce watched the changing colors moving through the sky. The dark blue mixed with red, turning a portion of the sky into a deep purple color. As the sun rose higher, the darker colors faded away, and everything turned into a vivid, blue color.

This was the most stunning thing he’d ever witnessed.

The sun nestles itself in the center of the sky, providing warmth and light. The city doesn’t look so ugly now.

Bruce laid down on his back with his arms folded behind his head as a makeshift pillow. He was absorbed in the breathtaking sight, and was grateful to witness his last sunrise.

 

* * *

 

While passing empty supermarkets, Bruce noticed a busted-up vending machine out on the curb. He cautiously approached it and saw cans of soda lying everywhere. Feeling a bit parched from all the walking, he reached down and picked up a can of Pepsi. He rubbed his gloved fingers up and down the can, recalling a fond memory of Alfred Pennyworth.

_“What’s your favorite soda?”_

_“Soda?! Bloody hell that’s just sugar and acid Master B, not good for your teeth or body.”_

_Bruce giggled at Alfred’s scrunched up nose, “Oh come on you HAVE to have a favorite. You drank the stuff as a kid, didn’t you?”_

_Alfred shrugged, and he continued to knead his fists into a bowl of dough. “My mother, God rest her soul, really liked the blue cans. I think it was called ‘Pepsi’, she couldn’t get enough of it. Yeah, I remember now-” His eyes glossed over at the memory and he smiled a little, “When I’d get back late from school functions, she’d have a glass ready with ice, lemon slices, and Pepsi. I suppose I did like the bubbly feeling I got in my stomach, but after she passed away… I never touched soda again. Always been tea, water, and a strong glass of scotch for me.”_

_The sad smile doesn’t go unnoticed and Bruce hastily got up from the kitchen table and walked over to the counter where the butler stood. “Can I help?”_

_“Huh? Oh, well I don’t see why not.” Alfred paused and motioned to the sink with a head tilt, “Roll your sleeves up and wash up good, yeah?”_

_“Got it.” Bruce rolled his left sleeve up first, followed by his right. He walked over to the sink, flipped the hot water on, and thoroughly washed his hands with soap. Afterwards, he shut the water off and dried his hands on a few sheets of paper towels._

_“Alright come over here and dip your hands into the bag of flour, don’t want the dough sticking to ya.” Alfred scooted to the side._

_The eager teenager followed instructions and coated his hands in a white, powder substance._

_“Good, now stand in front of the bowl-” Alfred moved out of the way, “-and ball your hands up into fists.”_

_“Okay.” Bruce was now standing in front a big red bowl and he lowered his fists against the soft dough._

_“What you’re gonna do is apply light pressure and-”_

_Instead of waiting for Alfred to finish, Bruce suddenly rammed his fists into the dough and unintentionally caused a heap of flour to erupt from the bottom of the bowl. Extreme pressure sent spurts of flour all over Bruce and Alfred, both of which dawning black apparel._

_Bruce blinked rapidly to try to get the flour out of his eyelashes. He turned his head and looked up at Alfred, whose face had a streak of white running across from cheekbone-to-cheekbone. “You uh, got a little something…” Bruce pointed a finger at Alfred’s face._

_“Yeah, so do you.” Alfred saw traces of flour in Bruce’s hair, tinting some of the raven curls white. The boy’s incredibly long eyelashes were heavy with flour and some of it coated Bruce’s bottom lip. He reminded Alfred of Thomas Wayne, the bloke couldn’t cook worth a damn. The sight itself was ridiculously funny and the elder burst out laughing, “Haha!”_

_The boisterous laughter had Bruce grinning, “You’re awful at giving instructions.”_

_“Oh, sod off Master B,” Alfred said between his laughter, “Haha! It’s as though you haven’t bloody cooked before in your life!”_

_“That’s what I have you for, right?” Bruce counteracted with a sly smirk._

_“Oi! That's below the belt, very, low-” Alfred couldn’t feign seriousness right now and it took him a moment to recover from his laughing fit. He reached up and slapped his hand against Bruce’s shoulder, “Alright ya cheeky monkey, go on and fetch the broom.”_

Bruce inserted his index fingernail and cracked the soda open. The satisfying hiss made his stomach grumble, by now he’d be eating a hearty breakfast back at Hugo’s place… He forced the thought out of his mind and quickly took a drink. Within seconds, a pleasant, bubbling sensation filled his stomach and he felt the carbonation travel back up through his throat before-

A loud burp escaped his lips.

“Excuse me,” he said.

Nobody was around to listen, and the streets were unnervingly quiet.

“Oh right….” Bruce realized he was alone and there was no need for manners. He shacked the entire can of Pepsi in one go, and then tossed it aside. He continued walking, a series of loud burps were the only sounds accompanying him.

 

* * *

 

Bruce found himself at Gotham Central Park, but it wasn’t spared from the rampant violence and crime. Graffiti painted every available surface and what once resembled a playground area for kids was now in ruins. The jogging trails were overflowing with trash and somebody set the gardens on fire. The teenager was most disappointed about that, he wanted to see some colorful plant life before kicking the bucket.

Much to his surprise, a Golden Retriever found him while he was sitting beneath an oak tree.

“Hey there, are you lost?” Bruce smiled, and he scratched the dog behind his ear.

The dog licked Bruce’s hand and his tail wagged furiously.

Tracing his fingers along a red collar, Bruce noticed a tag. He lifted it and read the name aloud, “Buster… Buster the friendly retriever, I like it. Where’s your family?”

Buster cocked his head and watched Bruce with big, brown eyes. He seemed genuinely curious about the conversation. Then, he resumed licking Bruce’s hand and nosed his way against the teenager’s chest.

“You must’ve been separated, huh?” Bruce moved his fingers along the soft, gold fur. The dog appeared to be a little underweight, but other than that, he was well groomed. Somebody had to be looking for him…. He glanced at his watch, it read 2:34 p.m. Almost twelve hours have elapsed.

“I’m sorry Buster, I don’t have any food on me and I don’t think…” Bruce forced out a dry laugh, “Hah... I don’t have time to help you look for your family. I hope you can forgive me.”

The dog continued sniffing and eventually he gave up in his search for tasty treats. Buster made himself comfortable by laying down on Bruce’s legs and resting his head over the boy’s lap.

Bruce didn’t mind, and he leaned back against the tree, placing his right hand over Buster’s head. He stroked the fur behind the dog’s ear, eliciting a satisfied sigh from the hound. The company was welcome and the teenager gradually closed his eyes. He tapped into his olfactory and auditory system, letting every wonderful, precious, last sense envelop him.

Earth, slightly wet, the sprinkler system must still work in the park.

A warm, soft, Golden Retriever, very well behaved and definitely in need of a bath.

Smoke. Always smoke. A building, a car, dead bodies, something was always burning in Gotham.

Sirens, way off in the distance. There’s also gunfire, and what sounds like a helicopter. People are fighting to maintain control of their portion of the city.

Pleasant, sweet, and wholesome, an aroma tickled Bruce’s nose, reminding him of Alfred’s baked pies and breads. His stomach tightened up into painful knots and gurgled out in anticipation, but the teenager ignored it. Food was the last thing on his mind… In fact, all he could really think about were the colorful flowers and butterflies at the lepidopterarium. He wanted to smell flowers, specifically a rose. Why a rose? He thought they were the prettiest and he had never come across them before.  

“Hey Buster, you think any of the floral shops are open?” he asked, eyes remaining shut.

Buster yawned, and he shook his head, ears flopping all kinds of ways.

“Yeah, you’re right. They’re either burnt down to the ground or… everything inside is dead.”

Criminals seemed to focus on absolute obliteration; snuffing out all signs of life and anything reminiscent of a virtuous city.

Buster raised his head and his ears perked up. His little black nose twitched repeatedly.

Bruce opened his eyes and looked down, “Oh you smell it too huh? I bet somebody is baking.”

The Golden Retriever stood up on all fours and with one final lick against Bruce’s hand, he dashed off in search of food.

“That’s the spirit!” Bruce called out and he waved goodbye to the pooch. He was inspired by the dog’s resilience and kind nature. Feeling optimistic and recharged, Bruce climbed to his feet and dusted his pants off. If floral shops were out of the question, then, he could think of one more destination that might have roses – hopefully the kind that were alive and not made of plastic.

 

* * *

 

Gotham Highland Cemetery, one of four graveyards in the city and certainly the largest.

During his outings with Alfred, Bruce recalled driving past this area multiple times. It had angel statues, some made of cement, others out of marble. Headstones varied in size, as well as intricate designs and plating information. On some of them, probably those of the richer class, a whole, detailed biography was listed; embellishment at its best. Towards the poorer end of the churchyard, headstones had just a name and year.

On his solitude quest, Bruce walked the numerous paths up and down isles of gravestones. He walked past colossal monuments and stepped around hand-size grave markers; the family couldn’t afford a headstone most likely.

The area smelled like clay and earth. It also had a strange, no,  _ancient_  odor. Sometimes, he’d catch a whiff of perfume or something rotten and moldy. It was feasible that some bodies down below were in the ripe stages of decay, and Bruce would soon meet the same grisly fate.

The thought is off-putting, and he tries not to dwell on it too much.

“Roses…just find the roses,” he mumbled to himself. It was a feeble attempt to chase away the demons taunting him about his mortality.

For one, whole hour, Bruce searched the cemetery. He tried every direction and wound up in the center of it all. Eventually, he sat down on a gravel path and sighed in frustration “UGHHHH!!!” He grabbed handfuls of gravel and threw it across the ground.

Just then, a brown, furry rodent jumped out of a hole next to Bruce’s feet.

Alarmed by the sudden movement, Bruce scrambled to his feet and walked backwards to get away from the creature. He ended up tripping over a cement barrier, no taller than his ankles, but it was enough to send the teenager plummeting onto soft ground.

The rodent squeaked out in surprise and hurriedly dove back into the hole. Meanwhile, Bruce clutched at his chest; his heart felt like it was going to tear right out of his ribs. He didn’t know what that thing was. A chipmunk? A gopher? A squirrel? Normally he didn’t scare so easily…

An array of bright color catches his attention. Bruce turns his head to the right, coming face-to-face with two ceramic vases, stuffed to the brim with red and white roses. He gasped and slowly climbed to his feet, not bothering to dust his pants and coat off. He stepped over the cement divider that framed the grave site, with two marble headstones and a statue in the center. He recognized the statue as Saint Michael the Archangel and it held both sword and shield above the headstones.

It was a beautiful site to take in. The headstones were a combination of white and gray marble, whereas the statue was made of concrete with gold painted wings; the shield and sword were also gold, but whether it was real or paint, Bruce didn’t know. Guardedly, he moved closer until the roses were within reach.

Curious if he was dreaming, Bruce ripped the gloves off and shoved them in his right coat pocket. He lowered his hands and gingerly touched the rose petals. It was soft, like velvet and cool to the touch. The boy couldn’t believe his good fortune and he bent over at the waist, voraciously inhaling the wonderful scent that he only dreamed of.  

Sweet, and clean, almost like a subtle perfume. It was better than he imagined, and he found himself getting lost in the ethereal scent.

“What are you doing?” said an unknown voice.

Bruce froze up.

At that moment, his gaze traveled down, and he read the names on the headstones: Thomas J. Wayne, and Martha A. Wayne.

He turned as quickly as possible, accidentally knocking one of the ceramic vases over. Bad move. The raven-haired male turned right into a sharp right hook and it connected with his face.

 

* * *

 

The powerful strike was enough to send the clone flying off the grave site and onto the gravel-covered pathway. He groaned slightly, the attack made his head throb and he saw stars. Thankfully, there was no pain – not yet anyway. He rolled over onto his right side and saw Bruce Wayne standing a few feet away, and he didn’t look happy at all.

Bruce glowered down at the other male before walking over to the headstones and kneeling. He started picking up the roses and readjusting the vase in front of Martha’s headstone. “What the _hell_ are you doing at my parent’s grave?”

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, the clone took a moment to study Bruce. He noticed they were both dressed in black, but Bruce’s attire consisted of everything leather; pants, a zip-up jacket, shoes, and similar gloves. Bruce didn’t dress in anything outside of a monochromatic theme and it suited him nicely. There was no point in lying, even if the truth sounded silly. “I um, wanted to smell roses.”

“Liar,” hissed Bruce and after he finished collecting all the roses, he moved off the grave site. He approached the doppelganger with a hard glare on his face. “You lied about dying and yet here you are. Is this another kidnapping attempt?”

“No, no, this isn’t a kidnapping attempt.” He rolled over onto his hands and knees before standing up. He raised his hands in surrender, meeting the icy stare on Bruce’s face. “And I am dying, I just wasn’t sure about the timeline. Look, I honestly wanted to smell flowers. I had no idea this was Thomas and Martha Wa-”

Two gloved hands reach out and take hold of the clone’s trench coat. Bruce yanked him forward, nearly knocking the other male off his feet. Bruce hovered dangerously close and he snarled out, “DON’T YOU DARE SAY THEIR NAMES!”

The clone didn’t flinch, he didn’t even bat an eye at the emotional reaction. He could feel Bruce’s hands shaking with rage and he waited patiently for the other to calm down.

Being as close as he was, Bruce noticed a strange physical detail about his lookalike; his eyes were two different shades of blue, one dark, and one slightly lighter with specs of green. Odd, one would think Hugo Strange would be meticulous about his experiments. Shaking his head, Bruce spoke in a much calmer tone: “Why are you REALLY here?”

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter what I say. He isn’t going to believe me, and he won’t be happy with the answer I provide’, the clone thought to himself. How aggravating, he wanted to enjoy his final hours in peace. Maybe if he pissed Bruce off enough, he would leave. Tilting his head forward and pressing his forehead against the other’s own, the clone smirked. “Why should I tell you? I don’t owe you anything.”

Bruce opened his mouth-

The clone reached up and placed his hands behind Bruce Wayne’s head. He gripped fistfuls of hair and held him in place, only to lean in and aggressively kiss him.  

“Mmmf!?” Bruce tensed up and he gave a rough shove. When the doppelganger wouldn’t let go, Bruce bit down on the tongue invading his mouth.

The clone only withdrew his tongue when he tasted blood, and it was a strange taste.

Seizing the distraction as an opportunity, Bruce grabbed the clone by his arm. The trained fighter turned around on his heels and hoisted the unsuspecting male off his feet. Bruce essentially slammed him into the ground.

The wind was knocked out of him when his back hit the gravel path and it took a moment for his mind to catch up with what just happened. Oh no, he was lagging.

Bruce’s face crinkled up in disgust and he spat out black liquid. The taste was putrid, as was the smell. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his hand and there was a bemused look plastered on his face.  

Realizing he hadn’t pushed the right buttons, the clone remained on his back and addressed Bruce. “Let’s face it. I’m a better version of you. Selina and Alfred, they both knew I wasn’t you, but they kept me in their lives, nonetheless. I made them feel alive and you…you are a walking disaster.”

“Shut up….” Bruce walked closer and he unconsciously balled his fists up.

“A poor, spoiled, orphan brat whose emotional capacity is that of an infant.” He laughed, genuinely amused by Bruce’s irritated expression. “Aww did I hurt your feelings? The truth hurts, huh? You’re selfish, ungrateful, and you’ve never done anything for anyone but yourself. Thomas and Martha-”

“Stop” warned Bruce.

“-would be so fucking disappointed in how you turned out.”  

Bruce saw a flash of red. That’s all he remembers, and not so much attacking his doppelganger. Within seconds he’s on top of the clone and repeatedly throwing right hooks against his face.

The clone lays there and takes it. He can’t feel anything. Part of him regrets saying those awful, untrue things, but he really wants to get on with the rest of his day. He can’t have Bruce Wayne following him or restraining him in any way. So, he remains perfectly motionless and waits for Bruce to tire himself out. It doesn’t take long.

By the time Bruce throws his tenth punch, he’s already panting for air. He pushed himself off the injured male and walked away. He paused some odd number of feet away and glanced over his shoulder; his gloves were stained with blood. “You’re a waste of life, and you deserve to die alone. I hope your death is slow and painful.”

Acting on a thoughtless whim, the clone blurted out: “Give Selina Kyle my best.”

The last thing the clone remembers is a dark heel hitting his face.

Everything fades out to black afterwards.

 

* * *

 

Pain, awful, awful, pain in his face.

Wait.

He isn’t supposed to feel pain.

What the hell is going on?

Eyelids flutter open and blue eyes stare up at the night sky.

Oh fuck, it’s night time!

Bruce groaned and shakily pushed himself up into a sitting position. He checked his watch and could barely make out the numbers under the starlit sky: 9:45pm. His heart sank. He was unconscious for nearly three and a half hours. “No, no, no…” He bit down on his bottom lip and fought the urge to cry.

Ignoring the pain in his body and his face, Bruce managed to stand up and unsteadily make his way out of the cemetery. He had one more destination in mind and he hoped he could make it there before his time was up.

 

* * *

 

Everything looks different at night, but for Bruce it’s perfect. That’s the only time he traveled, when it was easier to hide in the shadows of buildings and alleyways. He moved as quickly as his body would allow, and only stopped to rest when the nausea became unbearable. He didn’t start puking yet, so that was a good sign.

Using the light provided by the stars and moon, Bruce navigated the empty streets. He was drawing closer to his destination and it made his heart rate increase.

Almost there.

Must keep going.

Can’t-

Bruce stumbled, and he grabbed onto a light post to keep from falling over. His face hurt so fucking much right now and those waves of queasiness kept coming back in faster repetitions. He covered his mouth with one hand and focused on his breathing. He counted down from fifty and when the wave passed, he pressed onward.

It took longer then expected but by the time midnight rolled around, he found the empty gas station.

He walks closer and notices how everything is the same, right down to the position of the trash can. He walked over to it and knelt, eyes surveying the area that should have been his grave. Technically it’s busted up concrete and rubble, but a grave, nonetheless.

Bruce closed his eyes.

_If you were anyone else besides Bruce Wayne…. I would have shot you in the head and chest, and left your body to rot next to the abandoned gas station._

The memory stung, more then he cared to admit.

“Gah!” Bruce gagged on bitter vile and he forced himself to swallow everything back down. No, he wasn’t going to lay there and die in his own puke. No, fucking, way. He shifted and lowered himself to the ground. He curled up on his right side and counted each, fast breath. He made it up to eighty-two before the urge to throw up subsided.

Footsteps approached.

Bruce reached out and curled his fingers around a piece of concrete that was as big as his fist. Swallowing a thick lump, he cleared his throat with a growl, “If you try to take me back to Hugo Strange… I will hurt you.”

The footsteps stopped.  

Unsure if he could stand just yet, Bruce opted to sit up and hide the rock behind his back. He lifted his gaze and saw a familiar, pale face glowing underneath the moonlight.

Jeremiah Valeska stood a few yards away; his normally stylish attire was in disarray and the suit jacket was torn. On Jeremiah’s left shoulder, exposed through torn fabric, are five lacerations and they resemble claw marks. He’s bleeding profusely and yet, those cherry red lips of his can’t stop smiling.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I don't know what it was about this one, took me nearly 3 days to complete. I have a hundred ideas in my head for the next chapter, which will detail Jeremiah Valeska and explain his injuries. 
> 
> Annnnd I had to include another one of my favorite images, that's the exact same look I used for the Subject 514A (AKA Bruce clone)


	13. Chapter 13

The revelation of Bruce’s departure came as a devastating blow for the pale man. It felt like somebody grabbed his heart and ripped the organ right out of his chest.

It hurt to know that he’d been lied to.   

Jeremiah Valeska stood in the center of the basement floor with a blue house coat in one hand, and a hardcover book in the other. Inexpressive, he surveyed the room and noticed a small pile of discarded clothing next to the gurney. He was abnormally calm although, a torrent of violent emotions pulsed inside his chest. Part of him wanted to take a gun and shoot the incompetent fools who allowed Bruce to go and the other visualized taking a hammer and breaking every, single, bone found inside the human body.

So many ways to take a life.

Ecco stood at the base of the stairs, arms at her sides and attentively watching the pale man. She knew what she was getting herself into by helping Bruce deceive Jeremiah. Whether or not the mistake would cost her life, she didn’t regret her actions.

Besides the itching impulse to murder someone, Jeremiah could feel anxiety bubbling in his veins, and it made his stomach churn. He raised the house coat to his face and nosed the soft material; it smelled just like  _him_.

[ _Brucie dear, what a sweet scent you have~_ ]

[ **Not only that but there’s another odor…. Something, something, something, it’s on the tip of my tongue.** ]

[ ~~Formaldehyde is oh so hard to get off the skin.~~ ]

[ _Oh…. OHHH!_ ]

[ ***Gasp* Is THAT why you told the truth? Hope things turn out different this time around?** ]

[ ~~Who could love someone like you?~~ ]

[ _You’re a monster.]_

[ **A sicko with a God complex _._** ]

[ ~~Insanity at its finest.~~ ]

Grinding his teeth together, Jeremiah turned to face Ecco.

The woman became rigid and was fully aware of the tension in the room.

“You helped him.” In a few quick strides, he closed the distance between them and towered over her.

Ecco didn’t bat an eye and she confirmed the accusation with a single nod.

Jeremiah’s lips curl into an ominous smile and he raised two gloved hands, one settling on a shoulder and the other stroked the dark bruises encompassing Ecco’s neck. “Tell me, what did you like most about him?”

“What do you mean?” asked Ecco, her neck tingling at the soft touch.

“Well…” Jeremiah tilted his head and he leaned down, ghosting his mouth over Ecco’s neck. “When you left the basement and deliberately lied about the book, I noticed your slightly tousled clothes.”

“Jere-”

“And-” Jeremiah cut her off, “-you were riddled with his scent. Even now, I can smell Bruce on you. So, tell me my dear~” He moved his other hand to Ecco’s neck and purposely ground his thumbs into the bruised flesh. “What is it you like most about Bruce? His smell? His taste? Those fervent moans? He might be new to physical intimacy, but that boy knows what he wants, isn’t that right?”

Ecco’s jaw tightened and she bit down on her tongue to keep from crying out in pain; the bruises are fresh and extremely sore. She pushed her attention away from the pain and focused on trying to answer the question. “I-it didn’t get further…. then kissing. H-he, Bruce, didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Aww,” Jeremiah pursed his lips together in a fake pout. “Must’ve been quite disappointing for you.” With both hands around Ecco’s throat, he began squeezing down.

“N-not really,” Ecco’s voice strained. Limited breathing made it difficult to speak and yet, she managed to get out a few more words out. “Bruce wants you…not me.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m about to kill you.”

“Jeremiah-”

“You’re running out of time Ecco, I suggest you pull your gun out now or you’ll suffocate to death.” Jeremiah increased his grip; he could feel Ecco’s trachea underneath his fingers. He was fueled by jealousy and the very thought of anyone laying their hands on Bruce filled him with homicidal rage. Friend or not, this was a mistake he couldn’t forgive.

Despite her impending demise, Ecco refused to grab the gun on her hip holster. She hurt Jeremiah, and this was penance. She grabbed onto Jeremiah’s arms and held fast, never breaking eye-contact with the man she loves.

Jeremiah watched, demented joy and amusement reflected in his pale eyes. As much as he wanted to snap her neck, one more question plagued his mind. He loosened his grip around her windpipe, “Do you love Bruce?”

Ecco choked and gasped for air, “No!”

“Then why did you aid in his escape?”

“H-he didn’t want to die here-” The woman could barely think, she felt dizzy and sick. “Hugo…lied…”

“What?” Jeremiah abruptly let go of Ecco, “What are you talking about?”

Grabbing her chest, Ecco collapsed onto the basement floor and doubled over dry heaving. Oxygen rushed into her lungs to relieve the burning, but her head felt heavy and fuzzy.

Jeremiah stood in silence while his mind processed the information. Bruce needs the dialysis machine to live and most of all he needs a cure to fix his dying cells. Hugo did express the difficulties in manufacturing such a cure…. The doctor claimed it WAS possible and he worked diligently while providing updates on his progress.

Unless… That was a ruse and Bruce deteriorated more with each passing day.

[ _It was your brilliant idea to take him to Hugo Strange._ ]

[ **You put him in a basement with a man who tortured him.** ]

[ ~~Throwing your loved ones to the wolves again Jeremiah? It’s any wonder Ecco can put up with you. You’re a fucking lunatic.~~ ]

“No…. I’m …  _not_  crazy.” Jeremiah mumbled, and he stepped back, vehemently refuting the assertion.

After her vision cleared and her head felt normal, Ecco climbed to her feet. She looked at Jeremiah and noticed how distraught he was. Guilt stabbed her in the heart, and she took a step closer, “Jeremiah… There’s still time to look for Bruce.” She reached out and cautiously touched his arm, “I’ll help you look for him.”

Jeremiah looked down at Ecco’s hand, and then his gaze traveled up to meet Ecco’s blue eyes. He never questioned her loyalty, so why was he surprised now? “Ecco…. Are you certain?”

“Certain about what?”

“Staying by my side…. I’m not-” Jeremiah frowned, “-my state of mind isn’t what you’d call… cohesive.”

“I know.” Ecco raised her hand and rested it on Jeremiah’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “But that doesn’t change the fact I’ve dedicated my life to you. I’m sorry for hurting you and I’ll do everything in my power to make it right. If you want to go out into the city and find Bruce, I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” Jeremiah smiled, and it was almost sincere. He took Ecco’s hand in his own and pressed a kiss against the leather-covered knuckles, “Would you please call Zsasz? Tell him to drop whatever he’s doing and meet us here. Also, call Oswald and tell him I’ll need all my men to report here at once, for…a personal task.”

“Of course.” Ecco ignored the way her heart skipped a beat and she removed her hand to retrieve a cell phone from her jacket.

“I’ll wait for you upstairs. Pay no attention to the gunfire.” Jeremiah stepped around Ecco and made his way up the basement stairs. It was close to 5:30 a.m. Hugo was up and working on other humanoid subjects, most of which are weapons for Oswald Cobblepot’s growing army. 

With the cell phone pressed against her ear, Ecco watched the man climb up the stairs and disappear out the door.

“Hello?” said a male voice.

“Zsasz, drop what you’re doing and meet us at Hugo Strange’s residence.”

Before the man could respond, Ecco ended the phone call. She dialed up Oswald’s cell phone, knowing she’d have to be prepared for a temperamental outburst. 

 

* * *

 

Hugo’s nose wrinkled at the sight before him.

A black body bag was unzipped, revealing a middle-aged man with a gunshot wound -that had been recently stitched up- on the right side of his head. He appeared to be of Hispanic ethnicity, quite possibly a gang banger, if the tattoos on his face were anything to go off.

“I told you this, countless times before-” Hugo raised his head and glared at the two men standing on either side of the steel gurney, “-bring me a body that hasn’t suffered cranium related injuries. Without a functional brain, a corpse is useless to me.”

“Lo siento, señor… We thought, maybe-” The youngest man looked over at his partner, “-you could use him for like, I dunno….. parts?”

Sighing impatiently, Hugo pinched the bridge of his nose; he could feel a migraine coming on, if not for the lack of sleep, the incompetence of the men was surely to blame. “This isn’t a cheap mechanic shop, I don’t use people for ‘parts’. They either arrive whole, and complete- or I don’t use them at all. Perhaps you should look for better candidates, ones that don’t share your genealogy.”

The two men looked at one another, the younger inquiring, “Genealogy? ¿De qué está hablando?”

Hugo opened his mouth to explain, only to stop short when he heard the double doors slam open.

Everybody, including Harriet – who was standing on off to the side prepping surgical instruments – looked up to see Jeremiah Valeska enter the work study.

“Mr. Valeska-” said Hugo, before the sound of gunfire erupted inside the spacious work study.

One bullet collided into Hugo’s right knee, and a second punctured the left knee.

The doctor let out a bloodcurdling scream and he collasped onto the carpeted floor, grabbing at his bleeding legs and squeezing around the wound.

Harriet screamed as Jeremiah pulled the trigger on his pistol and a lead bullet struck her in the center of the forehead.

The pre-med student died instantaneously before her lifeless body hit the floor.

“¡No me dispares!” one of the men cried, while the other hastily retrieved his firearm.

Two more bullets fly through the air, each hitting the men in their chests; it wasn’t exactly a kill shot as it missed their hearts, but it was enough to incapacitate them.

One of the men prayed in Spanish as he bled out, the other went into a series of convulsions.

Jeremiah lowered his pistol and he approached the bloody mess, his cold and unemotional eyes focused on Hugo Strange. “You lied to me.”

Hugo said nothing, he was rocking back and forth, crying from the intense pain rippling throughout his body. It felt very much like his legs were on fire, particularly in his knees. He barely registered Jeremiah’s words and when he looked up, he whimpered in fear because Jeremiah kneeled and pushed the barrel of a gun against his head.

“I could have…spent my time in a more favorable manner with Bruce… but I foolishly put my trust in you, thinking you could  _fix_  him.” Jeremiah’s words dripped with bitter venom.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Valeska….” Hugo choked on his own words when the barrel moved to his mouth.

Jeremiah felt his bottom eyelid twitch and he forcefully shoved the barrel into Hugo’s mouth, tilting it upward towards his brain. “No, you’re  _not_  sorry Mr. Strange…. Not yet.”

Hugo was balling his eyes out at that point. He didn’t want to die. No, no, no, he had one too many glorious things to do for Gotham. He groveled before Jeremiah, his words incomprehensible as he gurggled them out: “Oooh, p-wolice, dun kill muh. I can hwelp- safe Ruce.”

“I’ve already heard this pitch,” purred Jeremiah, obviously delighted by the pathetic begging. Hugo was a spineless creature, he only served power and money. Jeremiah wanted inflict as much pain as possible, perhaps, he should play doctor? Yes, pretend he was a surgeon and cut into Hugo’s body while the man was alive and fully conscious. It would be fun, and his delicious screams of pain might make up for some of the betrayal he felt – maybe. Jeremiah considered the idea, up until he heard Ecco’s voice.

“Zcasz is on his way.”

Jeremiah looked over his shoulder and saw Ecco standing in front of the open entryway. “Wonderful.” Her presence was enough to deter Jeremiah from taking Hugo’s life. Time was of the utmost importance, and Bruce didn’t have a lot of it. He could spare Hugo, for now, and take his life another day. Pulling the gun out of the doctor’s mouth, Jeremiah stood and he wiped the barrel off on the side of his suit jacket. “Hugo can live, kill the other two.”

Ecco nodded, and she withdrew her firearm.

The pale man left the room.

_BANG!_

_BANG!_

A pleased smile curled Jeremiah’s lips.

 

* * *

 

Oswald Cobblepot wasn’t happy to receive an early phone call from Ecco. It was less of a request and more of a demand that he get up and immediately report to Hugo’s estate with Jeremiah’s men. What in the actual  _fuck_  was going on?!

Something wasn’t right…. Jeremiah Valeska was losing it, both literally and figuratively. Oswald noticed it, Hugo noticed it, and all of Jeremiah’s men noticed it. The pale man radiated mental instability and all because of a doppelganger… One of Hugo’s experiments Oswald had recently come to discover. He didn’t believe it was Bruce Wayne sitting on Jeremiah’s lap, back when he had dinner with the pair. A clever act but it was obvious how enamored Jeremiah was with the clone.

Now, Jeremiah wanted all his men back and Oswald assumed it had everything to do with Bruce – or subject 5-something, whatever Hugo called him.

“How infuriating….” Oswald mumbled.

The black limousine crawled up to the estate with three white vans tailing close behind. Once they arrived, Oswald huffed out an exasperated breath and climbed out of the vehicle. He used his black umbrella as a sort of walking cane and hobbled over to the sidewalk. Behind him, the van doors opened and out stepped a couple dozen men, all armed and ready to go.

Blue eyes catch sight of Jeremiah and Ecco waiting on the top of the patio, centered in front of the entrance door and outwardly placid. They were up to something… he knew it. Instead of walking up the path, Oswald paused outside the white picket fence and addressed the two. “Mr. Valeska, what’s going on? I received an urgent call and…” He glanced around, “I don’t see what the urgency was for.”

Jeremiah had no discernible emotion on his face, and he addressed the comment with a casual shrug. “I have to find Bruce…. He somewhere in the city. I need every available pair of eyes on this, it’s what you would call a time-sensitive matter.”

“Oh, I see… Bruce, hmm…” Oswald raised his left hand and tapped his chin thoughtfully, “You’re more concerned about Bruce as opposed to protecting your territory?”

Pale, green eyes focus on the older man. “Yes, absolutely. Is that a problem Mr. Cobblepot?”

“Oh no, no, of course not!” Oswald shook his head and he glanced to the side, eyeing the row of men. “It could, however, be a problem for  _them_.”

Jeremiah turned and looked the men over, “Is that true? Do you have a problem following MY orders?”

Some of the men shifted uncomfortably while others averted their gaze. One man looked at Jeremiah and fumbled with the assault rifle in his arms, “Boss…. You uh, been acting different since you met that kid. I know how much you fancy him but…. We want a strong leader, someone who isn’t afraid to take on the other crime bosses, like Cobblepot here.”

Oswald smirked triumphantly.

“I see…” Jeremiah mulled the admission over in his head, paying no attention to Oswald’s haughty attitude.

Ecco glanced up at Jeremiah, her eyes held a question: What now?

Jeremiah cocked his head to the side: Wait.

The silent communication didn’t go unnoticed and Oswald tensed up immediately. “You have no authority here Jeremiah. You forfeited your leadership the day you took Bruce in. That boy, no, that THING has clouded your judgement-”

Ruby red lips twitch into a scowl and he clenched his jaw tightly, eyeing Oswald like an insect he dreadfully wanted to crush.

Sensing the hostility and growing tension, Ecco placed her gloved hands over her hips, directly above the guns. She waited for further instruction.

The man who spoke earlier, raised his firearm and aimed it at Jeremiah.

Oswald continued, “-this futile endeavor needs to end!  Forget about Bruce and-”

A small, red beam of light hovered on Oswald’s chest, prompting the man to freeze up and cease talking. He swallowed thickly and looked down, recognizing a sniper beam when he saw one. Shit.

Ecco’s cell phone rang and she nonchalantly reached into her jacket pocket to retrieve it. She answered the call and held it to her right ear.

“Hi pretty boss lady,” Zscaz said.

“It’s Zscaz,” Ecco said.

“Ah, how convenient. I applaud your good timing.” Jeremiah commented.

Tickled with delight, Zscaz giggled at the compliment. “Zscazettes are in position, ready to fire on your orders Boss man.”

Jeremiah was close enough to hear Zscaz and he nodded once. “Wonderful.”

Oswald grit his teeth together, seemingly incapable of accepting the fact that he might have lost. If there’s one thing he learned about Zscaz was that he was strategic planner. He probably had his arsenal of loyal followers situated around the area. Covering his bases, like a good assassin should. It would seem Jeremiah had the upper hand…

Wait…

There was one more detail to consider.

“Hmph.” Oswald relaxed and he shrugged his shoulders, offering up a polite smile as he spoke. “Checkmate, well played.”

Jeremiah didn’t buy the cheeky attitude and his eyes narrowed suspiciously on the bird. “Surrender all firearms, you can keep your _loyal_ factions.”

Oswald chuckled, having picked up on the spiteful tinge in Jeremiah’s voice. Ignoring the red target on his chest, he glanced over his shoulder towards the limousine he arrived in. “Mr. Jones?”

What had escaped everyone’s attention was the fact that there was another passenger inside the vehicle. The car door clicked open and gargantuan man stepped out on to pavement. What was strange was how the car suddenly lifted about six inches, after the enormous being climbed out.

Jeremiah stiffened up slightly, having recognized the creature right away.

Waylon Jones, or alternatively ‘Killer Croc’, as Hugo so fondly dubbed him.

Fuck. This wasn’t good.

Waylon sauntered through the crowd, leaving within his wake a group of scared and nervous men who rushed to get out of his way. He’s wearing a brown zip-up sweater, with a black leather jacket thrown over it. His charcoal gray jeans are ripped in certain areas and shockingly enough, there existed black combat boots that could fit over his large feet.

“What in the shit-show is _that_ thing?!” Zsasz said over the phone.

Ecco, admittedly, was beginning to feel fear – actual, spine tingling fear. She heard of ‘Mr. Jones’, but this was her first time putting a face to the name. It was downright terrifying, like something out of a horror film. She didn’t respond to Zsasz’s question and instead whispered, “He’s your target.” She gave the command because she had a feeling this reptilian beast posed a bigger threat compared to a small bird.

“Yes Ma’am,” Zsasz said, sounding a little too excited to shoot the creature. He adjusted his aim and the red beam of light moved away from Oswald’s chest and landed on Waylon’s body.

Joining Oswald at his side, and making the man appear a hundred times smaller, Waylon’s yellow eyes flickered to Jeremiah. He looked the man up and down, sizing him up, or perhaps, wondering what his pale flesh will taste like. He wasn’t concerned about the red light hovering on his body and he raised scaly hands to pull his hood back. “Never ate a clown before-” he said in a gravelly voice, “-hope he don’t taste funny.”  

Jeremiah unblinkingly stared at the metahuman. He was trying to work out a plan that involved him and Ecco surviving an impending attack. Hugo had mentioned specific alternations regarding Waylon’s biologic makeup. The skin was hard and thick, like that of a crocodile but was he bullet proof?

Oswald let out a boisterous laugh and he obnoxiously clapped his hands together, “My what a comedian you are Mr. Jones! I had no idea!”

Waylon rolled his yellow eyes, “So am I gonna eat him or what? I’m tired of sitting around in the car.”

“Yes, of course, my apologies.” Oswald motioned to Jeremiah and Ecco with the sweep of his hand. “Two scrumptious enemies for you to devour, enjoy~”

Ecco ended the phone call and withdrew two Glock 20s.

Oswald gasped and he quickly ducked behind Waylon to avoid getting shot.

“Oooh you look like a tasty snack,” Waylon grumbled, eyeing Ecco’s body with greedy, hungry eyes. He began walking up the path to the front entrance.

From an unknown direction and rooftop, Zsasz fired off a round and shot the mutated creature in the forehead.

Waylon hissed in pain and flinched back. He paused, reached up, and gingerly plucked the lead bullet from his head. He glanced at it and tossed it aside, grunting dismissively.

Gaping in shock, Ecco moved in front of Jeremiah to protect him and resisted the urge to open fire. For somebody to survive a clean head shot… why, the feat was impossible! Waylon Jones was turning out to be a formidable enemy.

“Oh fuck….” Zsasz raised his handheld radio and called out to the Zsaszettes, “All eyes on that weird reptile motherfucker. Don’t let him out of your sight!” 

“You got it babe~”

“Yes sir Mr. Zsasz~”

“Eyes on the prize baby cakes~”

“Y’all are just the bee’s knees~” Zsasz purred affectionately. After the ladies confirmed their target, he set his radio back down and peered into the scope.  

Waylon was on the move again and he approached the porch steps, a menacing smile revealed rows of sharp teeth.

Before all hell broke loose, an unexpected beam of light flashed from above.

Jeremiah, Ecco, Oswald, and Waylon looked up.

A helicopter hovered over them.

Coming from another direction and on a loudspeaker, a voice called out – it was a voice everyone recognized but nobody wanted to hear it.

“GCPD, WE HAVE THE PLACE SURROUNDED! TOSS THE FIREARMS AND GET ON THE GROUND, NOW!”

Jim, fucking, Gordon.

Jeremiah turned on his heels and stared off to the left, towards an apartment complex; he pinpointed the source.

Oswald was the second one to pick up on where Jim’s voice was coming from. He turned in the same direction as Jeremiah and his eyes widened when he saw the unusual line up on top of the building.

Jim Gordon. Harvey Bullock. Four dozen GCPD police officers and….

Edward Nygma?!

“ED?!” Oswald cried out in surprise.

Dawning a flashy green suit jacket and matching pants, Ed shrugged when his presence was acknowledged.

All of Oswald’s men turned their firearms towards the apartment building.

The officers did the same and they raised their guns.

“Woah, hold your fire!” Jim raised his hand. He, and the rest of the officers -with the exception of Ed- are all encased in bulletproof vests. However, a downpour of bullets wasn’t ideal for either side. Jim lowered the loudspeaker and raised a handheld radio, “Lucius are you in position?”

“Just about,” Lucius responded.

The building offered a strategic vantage point. Jim could see Lucius’s group closing in on the right side of the house and a second team was closing in fast on the left. Their plan included a surprise ambush and if all went well, nobody would die tonight. Taking out Jeremiah Valeska and Oswald Cobblepot would aid in the reclamation of Gotham City. He was fortunate Ed Nygma was willing to cooperate and offer intel on his former partner.

Zsasz was intrigued by the turn of events and he observed quietly.

“I-it’s a trap!” Oswald suddenly blurted out. He looked at Waylon and pointed the end of his umbrella towards the building, “Jim Gordon and Ed Nygma, KILL THEM BOTH!”

Waylon growled in irritation, but he conceded to Oswald’s demands and turned away from the house. The hungry predator had the apartment complex in sight as he moved across the street.

“Oh, to hell with this!” Ed pushed one of the men aside and kneeled, flipping the latch open on a metal case.

“ED!” shouted Jim.

Ignoring the man, Ed opened the case and retrieved the concealed weapon inside. He had to balance one end over his left shoulder before standing up. He was cradling an RPG 7 missile launcher.

Jim lunged at Ed to try and stop him.

The other officers cautiously backed away while Ed ducked out of Jim’s reach and sprinted over to the edge of the building. He aimed the missile launcher at Oswald, offering up an apologetic shrug and raise of his eyebrows. “Nothing personal Ozzy!” he shouted, followed by launching the missile.

 

* * *

 

Terrified screams filled the air.

Men dashed out of the way to find cover.

Jeremiah swiftly wrapped his arms around Ecco and pulled her into a tight embrace. Without hesitation, he wheeled around in front of her, just as the missile hit its target. A loud explosion erupted in the space around them, and it tore his eardrums apart and reverberated inside his chest.

The powerful blast knocked Jeremiah down and he held Ecco close to his chest, only turning when he neared the patio floor. He let Ecco land on top of his body, wincing when her forehead connected with his nose.

Ecco mumbled out a string of incoherent words.

“Are you okay?” Jeremiah asked, ignoring the burning sensation in his eyes and nose.

“Y-yes.” Ecco’s head was spinning and it took a few moments for her equilibrium to stabilize. Once it did, she pulled away from Jeremiah’s grasp and stood up. She checked her firearms for any damage and looked over towards the plume of smoke.

Jeremiah stood up as well and watched in silence as the smoke lifted. Was Oswald Cobblepot dead?

No.

He was very much alive.

Waylon Jones stood in front of Oswald, his jacket and hoodie were on fire. The reptilian beast used his sharp claws to tear both articles of clothing off his torso. His body was unscathed by the attack.

“T-that’s impossible,” stammered Ed.

Jim was in disbelief, as were the other officers.

“Holy shit…. What the hell are we gonna do Jimbo? The guy survived a fucking missile for Christ’s sake!” Harvey said, his voice laced with fear.

Composing himself, albeit he nearly shit himself, Oswald barked one, simple, order: “KILL THEM ALL!”

Oswald’s personal army raised their firearms and open fired on Jim’s team.

Jim and the others were forced to dive down on the rooftop to avoid the downpour of lead bullets.

Without warning, Lucius’s team rushed in, guns a blazing.

“NO!” Oswald saw the approaching armada and if he knew a thing or two about surprise ambushes, there was an additional team in place.

Some of the men turned their guns on the approaching officers of the law but unlike them, they weren’t wearing bulletproof vests.

One by one, men dropped to the cold pavement and cried out in agony.

Blood filled the air.

Waylon sniffed the air and he let out a pleased trill. The scent of blood caused the narrow irises to widen and soon enough his yellow eyes faded to molten black. He stepped forward, prepared to eat the closest injured man.

“Wait-” Oswald touched Waylon’s arm, prompting the metahuman to turn around. “Jeremiah Valeska, take him out first. Less competition for us.”

“Okay.” Waylon nodded and he walked around Oswald, making his way to the porch.

As gratifying as it would be to watch Jeremiah die a painful death, Oswald wasn’t keen on taking a bullet to the chest. The man quickly disappeared into the chaos and searched for cover.

“Uh oh, giant green turd is on the move!” Zsasz said over the radio.

The ladies turned their sniper rifles on Waylon Jones.

Zsasz did the same.

“Jeremiah, run!” Ecco pointed both guns at Waylon, once again she resumed a protective stance in front of the pale man.

“No. Save yourself Ecco, it’s my life he’s after.” He rested a gloved hand over Ecco’s shoulder and gently squeezed, “Please go.”

“Jeremiah….” Ecco felt a weight on her chest, making it difficult to breath. “I won’t leave you.”

Waylon was now ascending the steps.

“Very well.” Jeremiah lowered his hand. Ecco was a grown woman, and very capable of defending herself. If this was how she wanted to die, then so be it, he wouldn’t argue with her. Cold, calm, and calculative eyes watched Waylon approach the top of the steps. Guns didn’t affect this guy, so Jeremiah saw no reason to draw his firearm.

Bullets rang out and showered the back of Waylon’s body.

The reptilian wasn’t affected in the least bit. He climbed the last step and now stood on the patio flooring. He eyed Ecco’s voluptuous body, nearly salivating at the sight of a good meal.

Damnit, guns weren’t practical. Ecco quickly holstered the firearms and she retrieved a knife instead. She didn’t see any vulnerable spots on Waylon, except for his eyes.

Waylon viewed the knife as a potential threat, and the inner predator kicked in. Like a wild animal, he shrieked at the blonde and ran towards her at inhuman speed.

Ecco raised the knife but was unprepared for Waylon’s speed and strength.

All it took was one left swing of his arm and he sent the woman flying like a weightless rag doll across the patio.

It all happened so fast. Ecco felt Waylon’s fist crash into the side of her ribs, the next thing she knew she was soaring through the air. Her body crashed into the wooden floor and she rolled onto her side, gasping and clutching her ribs; it was very possible that one, if not two ribs were broken.

“You’re gonna taste so yummy~” Waylon said, his attention now on Jeremiah Valeska.

“Hmm.” Jeremiah kept his hands at his sides and remained still.

“Tell me clown, are you scared?” The beast stalked closer until he was towering over Jeremiah.

Jeremiah looked up at the other male, who had at least one foot of height on him. He considered the question for a moment and shook his head. “No, of course not.”

Waylon rolled his eyes, although that big smile of his never faded. “Sure you are, everyone’s afraid to die.” A hand, covered in multi-colored scales, wrapped around Jeremiah’s chalk white neck. Claws dig into the flesh, drawing out blood out right away. Waylon’s nostrils twitched at the enticing scent and he slowly lifted Jeremiah up off the floor, leaning in closer to get a better whiff of blood. “Mmm…. It’s okay to be afraid of death. It’s a natural _human_ thing.”

Once Jeremiah’s shoes left the patio floor, he realized how imminent his death really was and how much he didn’t care. He couldn’t breathe under the crushing weight of Waylon’s hand, fortunately he took a deep breath before Waylon grabbed him. He stared into those eyes – the eyes of death- oh God, how cliché was that? The thought alone made him smile in amusement.

Not sure what to make of the peculiar action, Waylon licked his lips and brought Jeremiah closer to his mouth.

“J-Jeremiah.” Ecco was on her hands and knees, still clutching at her injury. She was crying and it wasn’t from the physical pain.  

Glancing off to the side, Waylon addressed the woman. “Oh don’t worry pretty lady, you’ll be next.”

Waylon Jones, for all brute strength and speed, was as dumb as he looked. For as soon as he took his eyes off Jeremiah, the clever man reached into the folds of his suit jacket and retrieved a syringe.

The beast turned his head-

Jeremiah plunged the syringe needle into Waylon’s left eye and injected him with the deadly combination of cyanide and morphine.

“AHHHHHHH!!!!!!” Waylon howled out in pain and he grabbed Jeremiah shoulder, sharp claws digging into the suit and flesh. He threw the other male down against the floor. He yanked the needle out of his bleeding eye, but the liquid contents ate away at the soft tissue. The pain was enough to send Waylon stumbling over the stairs. He rolled around on the dirt and clawed at his eye, tearing out bits and pieces to try and stop the pain.

The second team advanced on the group.

Nobody noticed Ecco and Jeremiah entering the house.

By the time the officers raided Hugo’s home, the pair are long gone.

 

* * *

 

A black van crawled through the vacant streets of Gotham City.

For the past six hours, Ecco and Jeremiah desperately searched the area for Bruce. Sometimes, they would stop and search supermarkets, bookstores, and any building that seemed hospitable.

Nothing.

Too much time has passed, and the sun was already making its slow descent across the sky.

Jeremiah was exhausted and slightly dizzy from blood loss. Waylon’s attack left him with five lacerations on his left shoulder. The wounds are deep and in need of stitches, but Jeremiah was pressed for time; he refused to sit down and let Ecco take care of it. He also noticed Ecco’s slow, deliberate movements – he suspected she had a few broken bones. Whenever they stopped to search a building, Jeremiah made her wait in the vehicle.

Lifting his wrist, Jeremiah glanced down at the watch. “7:30pm… He doesn’t have much time left.”

Ecco didn’t say anything. She turned the vehicle onto 5th Broadway, a popular street with interesting tourist attractions. Honestly, she was exhausted and running on fumes. Her rib cage was throbbing painfully and whenever she shifted positions, something would pop out of place. As usual, she kept her discomfort and fatigue to herself.

Jeremiah wasn’t oblivious to Ecco’s suffering. He wanted to tell her to stop and rest, while he continued the search alone. Every time he brought it up, Ecco insisted she was fine. Stubborn…. Absolutely stubborn. He appreciated the company but as time went on, his anxiety worsened. He needed to find Bruce. He needed to see him, touch him again, and soak up his comforting scent and warmth. Jeremiah pressed a hand over his suit jacket pocket, where the book was. It’s trivial book full of bad buns and jokes, why on earth Bruce picked that up to read was beyond his understanding.

“There,” Jeremiah pointed to a children’s toy store.

Nodding, Ecco parked the van in front of the small brick building. Before she could exit the vehicle, she felt a hand against her shoulder. She looked at Jeremiah curiously and quirked an eyebrow.

“Stay in the vehicle. I won’t be long.”

Too drained to argue, Ecco agreed with a single nod. “Be careful. We’re awfully close to Barbara Kean’s border.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Jeremiah stepped out of the van and, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, walked up to the building. Bruce had unique interests and if a children’s joke book caught his attention, then the same could be said about children’s toys. In a way, Jeremiah understood why Bruce would gravitate towards such things. He didn’t have a childhood, in fact, he had to grow and mature quite fast. “Oh Bruce… Where are you?” he whispered.

After searching the two-story building and finding no trace of Bruce, Jeremiah returned to the van to discover Ecco was fast asleep at the steering wheel. Jeremiah paused outside the glass window.

It didn’t take him long to come to a decision. He made sure the van doors were locked and secure before walking away. He left Ecco behind and continued his search for Bruce.

 

* * *

 

Hours passed.

The sky’s brilliant blue hue faded away, only to be replaced with a dark blanket of stars. There weren’t any clouds in the sky tonight, so the bright stars and moon provided adequate light for Jeremiah.

A throbbing headache plagued Jeremiah, including the pains in his body; he was certain his entire back was covered in bruises. His neck felt okay, just a few minor scratches that were already scabbing up. His feet hurt, he isn’t sure how many miles he’s walked, all he knows is that he can’t stop searching for his beloved.

Won’t stop.

Unable to stop.

Exhaustion, paired with blood loss and lack of sleep, began to take its toll on Jeremiah’s body.

The man was in a haze. He didn’t know where he was going, nor did he recognize any of the buildings around him.

“Keep going….” He mumbled, “Bruce needs you.”

Somewhere in the distance, a gravelly laugh bounced off the empty buildings.

Jeremiah furrowed his eyebrows and ignored the sound.

“Just… keep… walking,” he said, louder this time.

 

* * *

 

If it wasn’t for his comatose state of mind, Jeremiah would’ve exercised caution and hid in the shadows.

However, he isn’t functional right now, and he wanders aimlessly in the middle of the street. He’d be an easy target, if anybody were anticipating his arrival.

Suddenly, a high-pitched bark made Jeremiah jump back.

Alarmed, the pale man looked over to his right and noticed a dog – a Golden Retriever to be exact.

The dog, equally apprehensive about Jeremiah’s presence, whined around, his tail wagging back and forth.

Jeremiah pressed a hand over his racing heart, he was very much alert now. The adrenaline coursed through his body, providing a newfound energy. “If I had a treat, I’d give it to you right now to express my gratitude.”

The dog’s ears perked up and his tail wagged faster.

“For now, all I can say is thank you.” Jeremiah nodded towards the eager pup and that’s when he noticed his surroundings…

A familiar place.

Jeremiah did a full circle and he froze when he saw the gas station.

This is where he met Bruce.

Pain and exhaustion were null and void. The pale man walked away from the dog and made his way to the abandoned gas station. His heart rate picked up and his chest filled up with those annoying metaphorical butterflies that made everything tingle.

“Bruce.” The name left his crimson lips as a hopeful whisper.

Bruce was close, Jeremiah could feel it in his body. The undeniable bond and attraction guided his footsteps.

The closer he drew, the warmer his body felt.

Somebody was coughing and gagging, Jeremiah immediately recognized the sound and pitch. Hurrying, Jeremiah walked around lamp posts and overturned vehicles. He neared the trash can and he dared his gaze to look over the object-

Bruce reached out and curled his fingers around a piece of concrete that was as big as his fist. Swallowing a thick lump, he cleared his throat with a growl, “If you try to take me back to Hugo Strange… I will hurt you.”

Jeremiah stopped.  

Unsure if he could stand just yet, Bruce opted to sit up and hide the rock behind his back. He lifted his gaze and saw a familiar, pale face glowing underneath the moonlight.

Jeremiah Valeska stood a few yards away; his normally stylish attire was in disarray and the suit jacket was torn. On Jeremiah’s left shoulder, exposed through torn fabric, are five lacerations and they resemble claw marks. He’s bleeding profusely and yet, those cherry red lips of his can’t stop smiling.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of all the chapters, I think I had the most fun writing this one -so far anyway. 
> 
> Had to balance the angst with a little bloodshed and humor. But from here on out, none of the chapters will contain any comedic relief. Enjoy~


	14. Chapter 14

"[Goodbye](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LX5X9yAKLZ0)" by Trapcode. 

Fitting song for this chapter. If you listen to it while reading, I guarantee you'll be sad so, yeah, little warning there. 

 

* * *

 

“Bruce?”

Jeremiah scarcely recognized his own voice. The name rolled off his tongue as a whisper, suggesting disbelief. Was he hallucinating? On the other hand, maybe, he had passed out somewhere along the streets and was sleeping away… This was all, some wonderful, lucid dream. Either way, he found Bruce, he found his beloved. Of course, he was all smiles.

It took Bruce a few moments to register the disheveled appearance and when he saw bloodstains, he gasped. “What happened to you?!”

A hoarse shout cut through his benumbed senses and he laughed in heartfelt amusement. “Haha! Seeing me like this, does it worry you?”

“What?” Perplexed, Bruce considered Jeremiah’s reaction and his face turned a deep shade of red. “No!”

The defensive retort made Jeremiah’s smile grow even bigger. There was nothing rational about his ear-to-ear grin and he misinterpreted the concern as an invite to move closer.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” Bruce snapped. He struggled to his feet, having to use the exterior wall of the gas station to support his weight.

After a few steps, Jeremiah paused. This time, his expression faltered and regressed back to an unemotional stare.

“Bruce-” Jeremiah nearly sobbed the word out.

Keeping the piece of concrete in his right hand, Bruce looked over at Jeremiah. What he saw, he  _never_  expected to see.

Jeremiah Valeska is weeping. Eyebrows upturned, lips trembling, and two streams of tears cascaded down his face.

Something hot and painful coiled around Bruce’s heart. He had never seen Jeremiah express any sort of emotion before, let alone shed a single tear. He didn’t think the man was capable of expressing personal feelings. The teenager bit down on his bottom lip and chewed nervously.

Gloved hands raised and Jeremiah covered his face, muffling out anguished cries.

Remorse ate away at Bruce and he could feel his shoes leaving the ground in an attempt to close the distance between them-

_“Had I resembled anyone else, somebody you’ve never met before, what course of action would you have taken?”_

_“If you were anyone else besides Bruce Wayne…. I would have shot you in the head and chest, and left your body to rot next to the abandoned gas station.”_

Bruce stopped himself. He squeezed the piece of concrete until his knuckles turned white and his fingers began to hurt. Wearing a tight-lipped frown, Bruce addressed the older man in an unsympathetic tone: “Crying on command, how old were you when you learned to do that one?”

‘Ah, clever boy’, Jeremiah mused to himself. He lowered his hands, a slight smirk curled the right side of his mouth. He wasn’t crying when he met Bruce’s icy glare. “Oh, around four or five I imagine.”

“Do you want to know how I could tell you were faking?”

“Please, indulge me~” purred Jeremiah.

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows and continued. “You haven’t mourned the loss of a loved one.”

Jeremiah quirked an eyebrow, “And you  _have?_ ”

“No, but I’ve listened to a man fall apart, overcome by loneliness and heartache. He mourned for his dead lover and I-” Bruce paused, eyes glossing over slightly at the memory, “-will never forget the pain in his voice. You, on the other hand, are unable to mimic that.”

“Interesting theory.” Jeremiah commented; this is why he adored Bruce, the boy was smart and intuitive. “And who is this man you speak of?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does.” Jeremiah’s voice took on a more serious tone, “You matter to me Bruce.”

The remark elicited a bitter laugh from the raven-haired male and he shook his head, “My appearance matters to you, nothing else. Like you said-” Bruce looked down at the cold concrete, “-if I resembled anyone but Bruce Wayne, I would be dead and this…. This would be my grave.” He motioned to the ground.

“Bruce…”

“I’M NOT BRUCE!” he replied angrily.

Jeremiah swallowed his next words and remained quiet.

During those silent moments, Bruce realized how much pain Jeremiah’s admission really caused him. He thought the man might have real feelings for him but it was a foolish obsession. An obsession with Bruce Wayne, which influenced Jeremiah’s words and actions.

_Wanting to be as close as possible, Bruce looped his legs around Jeremiah and squeezed tight. He buried his face against the older man's neck, hardly trying to control his loud voice._

_They're each drawing close to their climax, turning their moans into little pleas against each other’s skin._

_For Jeremiah, it wasn’t like an orgasm when the pleasure hit. It was the deepest sense of happiness and calm he'd ever felt._

_Upon feeling Jeremiah's ejaculation, Bruce's voice turned into wordless cries. His own release painted his and Jeremiah's chest, prompting a few involuntary hip thrusts. The whole experience was transcendent for the raven-haired male and he felt as though Jeremiah gave him the most beautiful gift he could have ever asked for. A sense of belonging that he'd been craving for a very, long time._

Jeremiah was close enough to see the distant, clouded look in Bruce’s eyes. He wanted to kiss him and hold him in his arms, alas, he feared he might push the boy further away if he gave into his impulses. So he forced himself to wait, despite Bruce’s mortality dwindling away with every passing minute. How much time was left? Jeremiah was far too anxious to look at his watch.

When Bruce didn’t move or speak, Jeremiah reached into his tattered suit jacket and retrieved the book. He thumbed over the hardcover and cleared his throat with a cough, “Ahem… I believe this is yours.” He extended the book out to the younger male.

Bruce blinked and he eyed the familiar book, unable to stop the smile from creeping up. For a brief second, he forgot how angry and hurt he was. “You really went all that way to get it for me? It’s not even my book.”

“True, but you’re the one who found it. You have a rightful claim of ownership,” said Jeremiah. His heart rate picked up when he saw the smile.

The comment grounded Bruce right back into his miserable reality. The smile disappeared and he averted his gaze, “Just because you find something…. Doesn’t mean you own it.”

Fuck. Bruce’s words might has well of been a punch to his gut. Jeremiah’s stomach tightened up and a heavy pit settled inside. “That is grotesque and unfair. You’re taking my words out of context.” He lowered the book.

“Am I?! Because from where I’m standing it looks like I mean no more to you then that stupid book in your hands!” The words came out more spiteful then intended.

Jeremiah cringed. He looked down and wordlessly tucked the book inside his jacket pocket.

Guilt and nausea overpowered Bruce. He immediately backed up against the wall, breathing loud and heavy. He dropped the piece of cement, bent over, and gripped his knees.

“Bruce?!” Jeremiah rushed over.

A hand shot out and grabbed Jeremiah by his right sleeve. Bruce yanked the man out of the way before vomiting black sludge all over the ground. The clone swayed on his feet, he was seeing doubles.

Jeremiah’s nose wrinkled at the rancid smell of decay, however, that didn’t stop him from looping his arm around Bruce’s waist and steadying him. “Are you okay?”

“N-no,” Bruce gagged and spat out solid pieces of tissue and blood. “D-dizzy, have to sit down, please.”

The older male carefully lowered Bruce until he was in a sitting position. Jeremiah took a seat next to Bruce and he shifted his hand over the boy’s back. He stroked his hand up and down, applying gentle pressure to Bruce’s narrow back. He looked thinner, and paler than ever, Jeremiah was worried. He wondered how far he could get on foot if he threw Bruce over his shoulder and hauled him back to Hugo Strange’s residence. The idea is absurd, a long shot at best… Could it be worth trying? Could he feel better about himself if he attempted to save Bruce?

Bruce crossed his legs and leaned forward, paying special attention to his breathing technique. If he inhaled through his mouth and exhaled through his nose, he could avoid the putrid smell around them and avoid puking up again. He felt an odd sense of comfort from Jeremiah’s touch and proximity, although, the silence concerned him. He glanced to his right and could see cogs and wheels turning, the pale man was formulating a plan.

“Whatever it is you’re planning to do, don’t.”

Jeremiah looked at Bruce and smiled innocently, “What ever do you mean?”

Sighing in frustration, Bruce elbowed Jeremiah’s arm away. “I’ve accepted my fate, why can’t you?”

Lowering his arm, Jeremiah’s expression softened. “That’s it? You don’t…. want more out of life?”

The question had a recoil effect on Bruce’s temperament. He placed his hands on the ground, uncrossed his legs, and stood up. He took off walking, desperate to put as much distance as he could between him and Jeremiah Valeska.

“W-wait! I’m sorry!” Jeremiah clambered to his feet and pursued the other.

Bruce stopped and turned around with an irritated scowl on his face. “Just go away! Leave me alone!”

Jeremiah came to a halt the same time Bruce did. He raised his hands in surrender and shrugged helplessly, “I’m sorry, for phrasing the question the way I did… What I meant to say, is I _need_ you Bruce and, I feel as though you might need me too.”

“I’m not Bruce Wayne,” he said defensively.

“I know. I’ve met him before and you my boy, are NO Bruce Wayne.”

Hostility and anger seeped out of Bruce’s body. His shoulders slumped and his face twisted in confusion. “You…tried to turn me into _him_. You wanted me to be your own personal version of Bruce Wayne.”

“Yes, initially I did.” Jeremiah nodded, “Then I spent time with you. Besides cutting your hair and dressing you for the part, you didn’t behave like Bruce Wayne. You were your own person, with your own distinct personality. I adore that about you.”

“Adore what?”

“That you’re _nothing_ like Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce was at a loss for words. He looked down, his mind trying to wrap around what Jeremiah was saying. Did the two really have a chance at a relationship? Could they have been content with each other? Bruce was extraordinarily happy back at the theater building, including the time he woke up in Hugo Strange’s work study. Any sense of nervousness and fear was quickly dispelled when Jeremiah held him. Irrefutably, he felt a connection with Jeremiah, and he’d allowed himself to dream of something more….. _Un-fucking-fair_.

“You….  You ruined everything for me,” mumbled Bruce.

“I beg your pardon?” Jeremiah wasn’t sure if he heard correctly.

“My life…. My death…. Everything.” Bruce sniffled and he pushed the back of his palms against his eyes to wipe away tears.

Jeremiah lowered his hands. “I… I don’t quite follow. Bruce, please-”

Bruce suddenly yelled, “I WISH I NEVER MET YOU! BECAUSE OF YOU I’M TERRIFIED OF DYING! BECAUSE OF YOU-” The teenager was trembling like a leaf in the wind and he was sobbing uncontrollably. He hiccuped and tried to steady his voice. “-and because of you... I have a reason to live.”

No sooner did the clone finish his sentence, Jeremiah was on him in a matter of seconds. He wrapped his arm around Bruce and held him in a firm embrace.

Fingers curl into Jeremiah’s back, scrunching up the suit jacket underneath. Bruce pressed his face against the taller man’s shoulder, and he allowed himself to sob against the fabric. “I don’t want to die Jeremiah,” he hiccuped again, “I want to live. I want to stay here in Gotham City with you.” He cried louder in a voice full of torment, “IT ISN’T FAIR!”

“I know Bruce, I know.” Jeremiah placed one hand against the back of Bruce’s head and played with the thick raven curls. His other hand rubbed circles against the boy’s lower back, he tried his best to convey reassurance but, he was equally frustrated and upset that he couldn’t keep Bruce. The pain in his lover’s voice ate away at Jeremiah’s heart.

Fate was cruel.

Fate took away Jeremiah’s family, essentially everyone he loved.

Fate put Bruce on his path, only to shamelessly steal him away again.

It isn’t fair, Jeremiah unequivocally agreed with that statement.

“Bruce?”

“Yes?” the younger looked up with tear-stained cheekbones and puffy eyes.

Jeremiah pressed a soft kiss against Bruce’s forehead, “What if… you didn’t have to die alone?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Bruce blinked.

“I mean,” Jeremiah shifted his hand to Bruce’s trench coat and patted the pocket on the left side, “Ecco gifted you with something, did she not?”

“Yes, a syringe containing a lethal dose of cyanide and morphine. Why’s that?”

“Mhmm.” Jeremiah waited patiently for the astute doppelganger to figure it out.

The idea that came to Bruce’s mind was unfathomable, but it was the only, logical explanation. He stared into pale absinthe eyes, searching for any hint of deceit. When he didn’t find it, Bruce whispered the question, as though terrified of the answer. “You would…. inject yourself?”

Jeremiah nodded once.

“You would suffocate, it would be a painful death for you.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of the effects of cyanide.” Jeremiah moved both his hands and cupped Bruce’s face. He stroked his thumbs back and forth, wiping away the sleek dampness on his skin. “I’ll suffer right along with you, until we take our final breaths.”

Bruce’s eyes watered up with fresh tears.

“Oh Brucie, you’re beautiful when you cry~” Jeremiah closed the distance between their mouths.

The kiss was tender, and without hesitation, Bruce leaned into it. He started crying again but he didn’t care. He was overwhelmed with different emotions, some good, some negative. He let go of Jeremiah’s suit jacket and wrapped his arms around the older man’s neck. For the first time in a week, he felt a sliver of happiness.

Jeremiah’s chest bubbled with a familiar warmth and joy he’d long missed. He tilted his head and pushed his tongue inside Bruce’s mouth, the taste was awful, and yet it was still Bruce. Dying or not, Jeremiah would never pass up an opportunity to kiss his beloved. He swallowed the horrid mixture of blood and dead tissue, never once grimacing or complaining.

Bruce attempted to speak, only for Jeremiah to aggressively deepen the kiss. Their teeth clashed noisily against each other and the teenager felt a sharp nip on his tongue. He grabbed fistfuls of Jeremiah’s green hair and yanked on it.

Taking it as a sign to stop, Jeremiah pulled back with an embarrassed chuckle. “Heh, sorry…. I missed you.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Bruce’s heart fluttered underneath his chest and regardless of the constant nausea, he smiled fondly at the other. “Why are you doing all of this?”

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow and he decided to rest his hands on Bruce’s hips, idly massaging the area with his thumbs. “I’m certain I answered that question already.”

“No, you haven’t.” Bruce shook his head, laughing a little at Jeremiah’s stubbornness. “I’ll clarify.” He intertwined his fingers with Jeremiah’s hair, “You’ve done so much for me and I very little for you. My actions warrant hate-”

“Bruce-”

“Quiet.” Bruce hushed gently, placing his right hand over Jeremiah’s mouth.

Jeremiah nuzzled a kiss against Bruce’s palm and didn’t object.

“You don’t hate me, that much I know. I care about you Jeremiah Valeska, more then I’ve ever cared about anyone in my short life.”

Jeremiah listened attentively.

“So I’m asking you to be honest. How do you feel about ME as somebody who isn't Bruce Wayne.”

‘Clever as always, he’s being more specific about his questions’, Jeremiah thought, and he smiled against the warm palm over his mouth. He reached up, took Bruce’s hand, and pulled it away from his mouth. He interlocked his fingers with Bruce’s own and stared at those lovely blue orbs.

Bruce felt an unexpected wave of nausea, a hundred times more intense, wash over him. He jerked his hand away and stumbled backwards.

Jeremiah stiffened up and with a heavy heart, he watched the younger male puke up massive quantities of blood, stomach lining, and bile. He hated feeling useless, there wasn’t anything he could do for Bruce. He mentally cursed at himself for not grabbing an extra syringe from Ecco; at the time the thought hadn’t crossed his mind.

“Gotta… sit-” Bruce collapsed on his hands and knees. He was shaking and a pain-filled groan left his lips.  

“Bruce, what can I do to help?” Jeremiah was at his lover’s side and he reached out to touch Bruce’s shoulder.

The physical contact sent a jolt of pain through Bruce’s arm and he hissed out, “Don’t touch me!”

Jeremiah hastily withdrew his hand.

“S-sorry…didn’t mean to yell.” Bruce was panting and a veil of sweat coated his face. Every nerve inside his body was on fire and the pain was almost unbearable. “Hurts…my body hurts…”

“Then it’s time.” Jeremiah unbuttoned his torn suit jacket and tossed it aside.

“T-time for what?” Bruce gritted his teeth together and forced himself to lift his head.

“I won’t let you suffer by yourself.” Jeremiah tentatively reached into Bruce’s trench coat and plucked the glass syringe, doing his best not to touch the sensitive body. He placed the death sentence inside his mouth and stood up afterwards. He squeezed his left hand, balling it up into a tight fist. Next, he rolled up his sleeve.

Bruce watched.

Jeremiah had to flex his arm a few times, the rolled-up sleeve acted as a sort of tourniquet. Once he saw a prominent vein, he used his right hand to grab the syringe from his mouth and bite the resin cover off. He spit it out and looked down at Bruce with a sad but genuine smile. “You won’t be alone in this life nor will you be alone in death… I promise, I’ll follow you no matter where you go Bruce.”

“Jeremiah…” Bruce whimpered from the physical and emotional pain. He wanted to go back home, back to the theater where he could snuggle up in bed with Jeremiah. They could share meals together, maybe even split cooking duties; surely, he was a better teacher then Alfred. They could lay on the comfortable hunter green sofa and take turns reading books to each other, Bruce really enjoyed that.

But this... This was as good as it gets and the two accepted it.

Jeremiah aligned the tip of the syringe with a vein.

A shadowy figure moved in the background, capturing Bruce’s attention. He looked past Jeremiah, trying to make out who it was.

Keenly aware of another presence, Jeremiah turned his head and-

_Bang!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ain't gonna lie (I think I said this line before XD) but I cried like 4 times. I've been listening to a lot of music by 'Trapcode' and it's exactly what my little angst heart needs (pretty sure I used that line too somewhere). 
> 
> Cliffhanger! Probably my most morbid one yet.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Death

I'm just gonna put this riiiiiiigggghhhht here.

"[I Won't Let You Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BaHhT3VVbtU)" by Trapcode

I highly recommend you listen to it while reading, it's a short chapter.

 

* * *

 

_Bang!_

One gunshot echoed deafeningly in the vast city space, reverberating from one building to the next.

Leaning up on his knees, the teenager raised his arms in an attempt to shield himself.

Jeremiah didn’t register who was standing a couple of meters away. He turned his head back to Bruce just as the bullet punched its way through the boy’s chest, causing a gaping hole in its wake that quickly filled with blood.

Bruce collided onto the pavement and the back of his head struck dense asphalt.

_Bang!_

A second gunshot struck Jeremiah’s arm and the force of it affected his grip around the syringe. The object fumbled through his gloved fingers and slipped.

The glass syringe fell onto pavement and shattered on impact, its contents spilling out everywhere and seeping into the fractured ground.

Dismissing the pain from his arm and shoulder, Jeremiah moved over to the fallen boy and he collapsed by his side. The older man looped his left arm underneath Bruce’s back, taking note of the pool of blood forming around the younger; it saturated into Bruce’s clothes and Jeremiah’s pants.

“Bruce…no, no, no-” Jeremiah’s voice strained. He raised Bruce off the ground and cradled him against his chest. He shifted his hand and tenderly stroked the other’s pale face.

Bruce’s mouth opened and closed, his words incomprehensible and rather, he makes gurgling noises. Blood gushed out of his mouth and his chest wound, trickling onto his trench coat and darkening it.

Helpless and terrified, Jeremiah watched Bruce choke to death on his own blood. The light from his eyes was fading fast and his frame trembled violently against Jeremiah. A loud sob left him and he pressed his forehead against Bruce’s own. “No, no, no Bruce… BRUCE!”

Stiletto heels tap quietly across the pavement, drawing closer to the injured man and the dying boy.

Threatening and unforgiving, a voice addressed Jeremiah: “According to Hinduism and Buddhism beliefs, a person can achieve favorable effects through past actions. Basically, the sum of your previous decisions in this state of existence decided your fate.”

Jeremiah recognized the feminine voice; he didn’t bother to look behind him to identify Ivy. He ignored her irrelevant prattle and nuzzled his lips against Bruce’s ear. “You asked me how I feel about you, not Bruce Wayne, but _you_ ,” he whispered softly.

Cross at the fact she was being ignored, Ivy pushed the barrel against Jeremiah’s head and centered it. “You, along with everybody else, deceived me. You’re a pack of spineless _liars,_ ” she jeered. “That was never Bruce to begin with! He’s that experiment, or clone, or whatever and he pushed Selina out of a ten-story building!”

The words fall on deaf ears. Jeremiah continued in a low whisper, his arm tightening around Bruce’s body to try to steady the physical tremors. “I’ve only ever wanted-”

“LISTEN TO ME!” Ivy raised her foot and she suddenly jabbed the narrow heel into Jeremiah’s lower back. The sharp end of her stiletto heel tore into his shirt and pierced the flesh.

Jeremiah tensed up and he bit down on his tongue to silence any noise that might satisfy her. Swallowing thickly and refusing to relent to Ivy, he murmured against Bruce’s ear “I love you.”

Bruce had gone motionless seconds ago.

“Bruce?” he croaked out.

Ivy jerked her heel out of Jeremiah’s back, catching the pain in Jeremiah’s voice. She almost felt guilty but she reminded herself what the two men did to her best friend. Selina deserved justice.

Raising his head, Jeremiah nuzzled his lips against Bruce’s cheekbone. “Say something….please, say a-anything…”

He cried out in anguish, “FOR CHRIST SAKE SAY SOMETHING BRUCE!” A gloved hand gripped the teenager’s shoulder and he shook him with such force that Bruce’s head rolled back and forth.

Lifeless blue eyes stare at nothing and his blood soaked mouth doesn’t move.

“No….God no, Bruce-” Jeremiah was oblivious of the hot tears flowing down his face. He stopped shaking Bruce and pulled him into his lap. He positioned Bruce’s head against his chest and pressed kisses against his raven hair. "Please don't leave me... you're all I have left of him. Stay with me." 

Little droplets of pain stained Bruce’s curled locks and forehead.

This time, Jeremiah wasn’t pretending.

Agony and loss weighed down on him, crushing him and squeezing all the oxygen out of his lungs.

It felt like sharp claws ripped through his heart each time he breathed in.

The pale man begs and pleads against Bruce’s soft hair, willing him to move.

His efforts are in vain.

The dead corpse, formerly known as Subject 514A, doesn’t move, and doesn’t speak. He had returned to his original state of existence.

Ivy walked around Jeremiah and stood in front of him. She aimed the gun at his head, “You shot my best friend and now she’s in a hospital fighting for her life.” That cold voice of hers wavered, teetering on the edge of bloodthirsty rage and affection for her friend. “Because of you, Selina might not walk ever again.”

Closing his eyes, Jeremiah nestled his face against Bruce’s hair. He was still weeping but had quieted down to a somber hum. He didn’t care about his life anymore, Ivy could do her worst. She SHOULD do her worst.

“You deserve to die,” said Ivy.

Jeremiah wholeheartedly agreed.

“Goodbye Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah acknowledged his executioner with a nod and without opening his eyes, he leaned down and pressed crimson lips against Bruce’s own.

A goodbye kiss.

A final farewell.

_I promise, I’ll follow you no matter where you go Bruce._

Ivy pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're a big baby and cried like I did, I promise I won't tell anyone. Btw, first time writing a detailed death scene.
> 
> I'm sorry for the short chapter. I exclusively wanted to keep the focus on Jeremiah's pain and loss, and there will be plenty more to come~


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I've updated the tags to include some possible trigger warnings. This chapter includes grave desecration, implied necrophilia tendencies, and implied sibling incest. 
> 
> Proceed with caution.

_Click._

Jeremiah opened his eyes.

“What the hell?!” Confused, the redhead frantically pulled on the trigger.

_Click!_

_Click!_

_Click!_

Recognition flickered in Jeremiah’s pale green eyes. “You have Ecco’s gun.”

As if on cue, Ecco appeared behind Ivy and grabbed a fistful of red hair, yanking back on it hard.

“AH!” she cried out.

Ecco threw a closed fist into Ivy’s face.

One punch was all it took to strike the metahuman down. Ivy collapsed onto the pavement, rolling over on her side and covering her face. The gun landed nearby but Ivy was more concerned about her bleeding noise and the godawful pain. “YOU BITCH!”

“Quiet down or I’ll dropkick your teeth in,” Ecco spat.

Tears pricked her eyes and Ivy silently glared at the woman; she rather enjoyed having a full set of teeth.

Leaning over to grab her gun from the ground, Ecco cast a softer glance towards Jeremiah and Bruce. “Is he-”

“Dead,” Jeremiah finished, animosity in his voice.

“I’m sorry Jeremiah.” Ecco shoved the firearm inside her leather jacket.

Jeremiah ignored the sympathetic remark. “I told you to get rid of that thing months ago.”

“It was the first gun you purchased for me, it had sentimental value.”

“Yes but it was damaged during our last raid. The trigger mechanism malfunctions.”

“I know.” Ecco shrugged, “Ivy took my gun, attempted to kill you, and it misfired. I’d say you’re lucky.”

“Lucky?” Jeremiah’s nose wrinkled in disgust and he scowled at Ecco. “I don’t  _feel_  lucky.”

Ecco looked down, hunching her shoulders slightly. Her blue eyes wandered over to the redhead, who was now sitting up and trying to stop her nosebleed with a leaf? Or something. “What are we going to do with her?”

Jeremiah looked down at Bruce while considering the question. He reached up and gently applied pressure over Bruce’s eyes, moving down to close the eyelids. Afterwards he planted a kiss against Bruce’s forehead and caressed his fingers along the boy’s face. His skin was cool to the touch, and very soft.

Gloved hands lower Bruce to the ground. Jeremiah stood up, ignoring the uncomfortable way his pants clung to his body; the fabric was heavily saturated in Bruce’s blood. Once on his feet, the pale man walked through the pool of murky blood, leaving red shoe prints as he approached Ivy.

Ivy stiffened up and her expression hardened. She didn’t appear afraid.

Reaching into his shoulder holster, Jeremiah retrieved a gun. “Who told you about Selina Kyle?”

The redhead pursed her lips together and furrowed her eyebrows, the gesture a silent ‘fuck you’.

Jeremiah aimed the gun at Ivy’s right knee and pulled the trigger.

_Bang!_

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” Ivy’s bloodcurdling scream echoed in the distance.

“Do  _not_  make me repeat myself,” said Jeremiah.

Ivy started crying, the pain was overwhelming.

Jeremiah pointed the gun at Ivy’s left knee.

“OKAY! OKAY! I’LL TALK!” Ivy waved her hands frantically.

 

* * *

 

Lila Rumiana Valeska.

Beloved Friend and Mother.

The headstone inscription produced a cruel laugh. Jeremiah had never heard of something so heinous and comical in his life.

Zsasz and two women glanced up from the grave they were digging.

“Boss man, you uh, okay there?”

Once Jeremiah’s laughter died down, he glanced at the assassin and nodded. “Never been better.”

The smile on Jeremiah’s lips creeped Zsasz out. Poor guy lost someone close to him and here he was, all chipper and smiley. Maybe it was just his way of coping?

“K” Zsasz resumed digging and tossing soil over his shoulder; alongside him, the two Zsaszettes continued digging as well. The cheerful attitude didn’t warrant any concern but, BUT! What did raise some red flags was the fact they were digging up Lila Valeska’s grave –presumably, that was Jeremiah’s mother, same last name and what not. Because Jeremiah was in such a volatile state, Zsasz decided to keep his mouth shut.

A third Zsaszette was working on Jeremiah’s wounds.

The pale man was shirtless and he sat on the back end of a 2018 Cadillac ATS- Ecco’s personal vehicle. Based on what his consort told him, the van was experiencing mechanical auto problems and she had to ditch it several miles away from her storage unit. Jeremiah never paid the place a visit but he did pay for a ten-year lease and knew Ecco stored miscellaneous items like a wide range of firearms, assorted knives and swords, different vehicles, and a few other interesting knick-knacks.

‘Cookie’, as she came to introduce herself, was seated next to Jeremiah with a bowl of liquid in her lap and several surgical instruments splayed across her thighs. She was a robust woman with smooth, olive skin and her hair was shaved on the sides, with a fiery red Mohawk cutting through the center hairline. Like the other girls, she was dressed outlandishly in clads of leather and shiny jewelry; her attire included a two-piece dress that exposed a muscled abdomen and thighs. This woman was in shape and she seemed to know what she was doing.

“Do you have a medical background?” Jeremiah inquired.

“No, but I’ve been working on Zsasz for seven years now.” Cookie said and she dipped a piece of fabric –torn off from Jeremiah’s jacket- into the bowl of liquid. Turns out it wasn’t rubbing alcohol but vodka instead. She dabbed it around Jeremiah’s shoulder wound, having already stitched up his arm; Ivy’s bullet went straight through the outer part of his arm, a clean shot.

Zsasz must’ve been listening and he piped up, “Cookie is a professional! She’ll take care of ya Boss, trust me, you’re in good hands.”

“Hm.” Jeremiah didn’t add anything else. It’s around 3:00 a.m. in the morning and terribly cold outside.

However, the frigid temperature doesn’t appear to bother anybody, including the scantily dressed women.

“Okay I’m going to start sewing these lacerations up, you doing okay hun?” Cookie asked, a needle and thread in hand.

A single nod.

Cookie inserted the needle into Jeremiah’s shoulder and the man didn’t so much as bat an eye. He remained rigid and unblinking, an unusual leer plastered on his face.

Unlike Zsasz, Cookie thought the man was faking his lunacy, all in order to cover up the devastation he felt for losing his friend –correction, his lover. Seeing how the man wasn’t particularly interested in conversation, Cookie worked silently and with steady hands, she stitched up Jeremiah’s wounds at a consistent rate.

Initially, Jeremiah wanted to bury Bruce in a small plot of land behind the theater building. They shared special memories there so it would only be fitting to keep him nearby. That being said, things are about to change in Gotham and Jeremiah could sense it. Most of his enemies knew his location and the building was a susceptible spot for raids, bombs, arsonists, and other appalling crimes. The last thing Jeremiah wanted was for someone to unintentionally disturb Bruce’s grave and if the building collapsed over it… Jeremiah wouldn’t be able to visit and leave gifts for his beloved.

Then there was Hugo Strange… Using the underground tunnel to escape the GCPD and Waylon Jones, Jeremiah and Ecco noticed trails of blood. He expected to find a dead scientist somewhere in the tunnel but the blood disappeared near the exit. He must’ve had help… If that bastard was still alive, Jeremiah had every intention of hunting him down and gutting him like a fucking fish.

His mother’s grave site was the only logical solution. Jeremiah could remove her rotting corpse and situate Bruce inside the coffin. Nobody would ever think to disturb Lila Valeska’s grave and here, Bruce will truly be safe.

Ecco and one of the Zsaszettes patrolled Gotham Highland Cemetery. It took nearly an hour to scour the perimeter; it was after all, the largest cemetery in the city. After doing a third round, Ecco and the Zsaszette check in with the rest of the group.

Zsasz glanced up, “Hey sweetheart. Everything lookin’ good out there?”

“Yes daddy, it’s clear.” The woman pursed her lips together in a pout.

“Aww what’s wrong?”

“I’m cold and I’m not really dressed for this kind of weather.”

Zsasz chuckled, “Well the sun hasn’t come out yet, course it’s gonna be cold! But you can wear daddy’s coat for now.” He put the shovel down and unbuttoned his black suit jacket. He leaned over and extended his arm, jacket in hand. “Here ya go sugar~”

“Daddy Zsasz you’re the best!” The woman bent over and plucked the jacket from him. She slipped it on and hastily zipped it up. She sighed happily, wrapping her arms around herself and inhaling the scent.

Ecco rolled her eyes, silently mouthing the words ‘Oh my God…’

Observing Ecco’s reaction made Jeremiah’s lips twitch into a bigger smile. His amusement faded, however, when he caught sight of a second headstone.

In bold letters, the name ‘Jerome Valeska’ stretches across the slab. Besides that, the only other detail is the date he passed away; nobody knew his birth date, nobody except Jeremiah.

His smile disappeared altogether.

[ _Hmm… Is Jerome REALLY dead? I mean, you didn’t attend his funeral sooooo.]_

[ **Both funerals! *giggles* Oh he was so pretty the first time we dug him up~ That waxy skin glistening under the moonlight and those full, pink, lips…** ]

[ ~~Jerome and Bruce found each other while they were alive… Do you think they found each now that they’re both dead?~~ ]

Jeremiah’s jaw visibly tightened and he dug his fingernails into his knees. ‘Shut up, shut the fuck up’ he told himself.

The voices persisted.

[ _You made a promise Jeremiah, no, no, wait. You made MANY promises and you broke every single one of them. You’re kind of a fucked up person huh?]_

[ **Should we ask Zsasz and his lady friends to dig up Jerome’s body for us? We can have fun with him, soooo much fun like the last time~** ]

[ ~~I suppose we should add necrophilia to the long list of fucked up disorders. Let’s face it Jeremiah, you’re every psychologist’s wet dream.~~ ]

“Nearly done, working on the last wound,” said Cookie.

[ _You worked so hard to control your impulses but there’s certain people that bring out the worst parts in you Jeremiah._ ]

[ **Worst? Hell no! Those are the best. It’s fun to lose control and give in to your desires! We would have it no other way!** ]

[ ~~Did you truly believe you had a chance with Bruce? Would you have told Bruce about your brother and the…unique relationship you shared with him?~~ ]

Jeremiah closed his eyes. ‘Bruce knew when I was lying and he called me out on it… So yes, I would’ve told him everything about my past. It would NOT have affected our relationship.’

[ _HAHAHAHAHA! Oh man, always the smart ones that are the MOST delusional._ ]

[ **If that didn’t gross Bruce out, then your need to control everyone would have scared him off. What was it he said again… OH! Just because you find something doesn’t mean you own it. Yeah, he wasn’t too happy about that.** ]

[ ~~You destroy everything you touch… Why do you think Jerome left you that message?~~ ]

‘Message, what message?’ Jeremiah furrowed his eyebrows and clawed at the back of his mind for the memory.

Cookie finished tying up the knot and she dropped the needle in the bowl of vodka. “All done.”

Jeremiah didn’t react.

“Are you in any discomfort hun?” Cookie didn’t know what to make of Jeremiah’s expression. She raised her hand and moved to touch Jeremiah’s uninjured shoulder.

In a flash, Ecco’s hand shot out and she grabbed Cookie by the wrist, preventing her from touching Jeremiah. “Don’t… It’s not good to bother him when he’s like this.”

Startled, Cookie jumped and nearly dropped the bowl. She quirked an eyebrow at Ecco, “Oh…. Okay.”

The voices are all talking at once, each overlapping the other to try and get Jeremiah’s attention. Message… they mentioned a message. Fuck, why was it so hard remembering things? Most of his long-term memories are gone and short-term memories were either 100% clear, or 50% muddled. He pictured the maze and remembered Jerome pointing a gun at him.

[ _Nooooo! Not that one!_ ]

[ **Getting warmer.** ]

[ ~~His last message. The very last one.~~ ]

Everything is blurry. All of his memories about Jerome are molding together into a singular montage of threats and violence. He can’t sort it out. The timelines are all jumbled. For the life of him, he can’t bring up that one, particular, memory-

Hands slide against Jeremiah’s face, cupping it in a gentle manner.

Jeremiah opened his eyes.

Jerome was standing there in front of his twin sibling, grinning widely. His green eyes are as bright as ever, and he had an air of mischief around him. “Hello, brother. Didn’t think you could get rid of me so easily, did you?” He purred in that deep gravelly voice of his. The kind of voice that always gave Jeremiah the chills.  

Unsure if this is a vivid hallucination or if Jerome is indeed alive, Jeremiah decided to listen; the other voices had gone silent for some reason.

Jerome stroked his gloved fingers up and down Jeremiah’s face, playfully ruffing up some of his messy green locks. “Naa, I ain’t alive. There’s no way I survived a couple of gunshots and a twenty-story building drop.” He gave Jeremiah’s cheekbone a tight squeeze. “See, my days were numbered but you, oh, you can continue for me. Be my ultimate revenge!”

“Revenge?” Jeremiah whispered.

“Uh huh. Remember the parting gift I left you? The one you thought was from Brucie~”

Jeremiah’s stomach tightened into painful knots. Now he remembered… including how excited he was to receive a gift from Bruce Wayne. It was silly to think about it now… He was so naïve then.

“Mhmm, you know what I’m talking about.” Jerome hovered dangerously close; his smile grew to inhuman lengths. “That gas was a special mixture I made, just for you~” The redhead nuzzled the tip of his nose against Jeremiah’s own and his voice dropped to an affectionate rumble. “Something to finally set you free.”

At first, Jeremiah didn’t know what the message meant. Days into his transformation, he realized he didn’t care about his victim persona anymore. Sure, he built his life around it, conformed to it, even began to believe it for himself. By putting his faith into fabricated lies, he could easily sell his performance. But now? Now he was done. Something in that gas did change him, albeit the change is more cosmetic then anything. After the laughing gas, Jeremiah Valeska felt like a new man who was ready to start a new life.

“Why are you here?” asked Jeremiah, unfazed by Jerome’s proximity and physical attention. 

“Because it’s time to have some fun, duh!” Jerome tilted his head and made it look like he was going to kiss his twin sibling.

Jeremiah remained still, his heart racing underneath his chest.

Jerome paused, his lips ghosting over his brother’s own. “Burn it down, brother. Burn it all  _down_ ~”

A loud sound disrupted the conversation.

Metal against wood, it hit three more times.

_Thud! Thud! Thud!_

Jeremiah, along with Cookie and Ecco, looked over to Lila’s grave site.

Zsasz was pounding the end of his shovel against a coffin. “We hit gold!” he announced. “Darlings I don’t want you to strain yourselves, go ahead and take a break.”

The other two Zsaszettes voiced their gratitude and they threw their shovels over the edge of the pit. With ease, they climbed up and out of the grave.

Jeremiah turned back to face Jerome, only to discover he had vanished. His heart sinks but he doesn’t acknowledge why.

“Hey Boss, you reckon’ we can both lift this thing?” Zsasz called out to Jeremiah.

“I would advise against it because of his stitches,” Cookie advised. She scooted off the end of the car and poured the vodka-blood mixture out onto the ground.

Ecco retrieved something from the front passenger side of the car and she returned to Jeremiah’s side. She held out a long-sleeved dress shirt in dusty gray.

Jeremiah took the offered shirt and leaned forward to get off the car. He slipped it on and began buttoning it up. “No, we don’t have to move the coffin,” he said, addressing Zsasz’s question.

“Oh….” Zsasz scratched his bald head and looked down. “Well uh, what are we gonna do with the, um, current occupant?”

Walking over to the edge and finishing the last button, Jeremiah spoke: “I’ll take care of it.”

“I see…. Well alright then.” Zsasz shrugged and he gripped the edges of the pit and hoisted himself up.

Jeremiah jumped into the freshly dug grave and landed with a solid thud against the coffin. He knelt down and grabbed one of two handles on the side. He opened the lid, exposing the bridge and interior panel, along with his deceased mother lying in the center.

All four Zsaszettes joined their beloved leader by his side and they too watched Jeremiah, genuinely curious about what he was going to do next.

Ecco crossed her arms and leaned against her car. She was guarding the back seats and protecting Jeremiah’s precious cargo.

For several minutes, Jeremiah Valeska stood frozen in place. He studied his mother’s corpse, which had now reached the stage of skeletonization; she was a mess of disarticulated bones and wiry thin hair. The smell that hit his nostrils wasn’t as bad as the black sludge Bruce vomited up, and oddly enough, he thought he could smell whiskey. Of course, that was mother’s favorite… Perhaps years of alcohol abuse embedded her favorite drink into those spiteful bones of hers. They had grown up poor at the circus and anything remotely nice, and maybe worth a few extra dollars, Lila would sell. Because of her addictions, she didn’t own any jewelry or fine clothing. In fact, Jeremiah didn’t recognize the floral green dress on Lila – probably donated by Sharon or one of the other circus members.

Jeremiah leaned over the coffin, grabbed Lila by her gown, and lifted her. The corpse practically weighed nothing and so, without a second thought, Jeremiah unceremoniously tossed his deceased mother out of the grave.

The girls are spooked and one of them screamed when skeletal remains fly into the air, tumbling several feet away.

“Lord have mercy…” Zsasz was unnerved, and it took a lot to unsettle a professional hit man like himself. He moved his right hand and drew the symbol of a cross over his chest.

Ecco glanced over at Lila’s decomposing corpse; her reaction was less emotional, if at all, unnoticeable.

Gloved hands grip the edge of the pit and Jeremiah pulled himself up. He climbed to his feet, dusted soil off his pants and extended his hand to Zsasz. “Our contract is over.”

“Really? Huh, okay. Pleasure doing business with ya Boss.” Zsasz stepped up and took Jeremiah’s hand, giving it a firm shake.

“Everything is back at the theater. Ecco can escort you and see to it your reimbursement is satisfactory,” Jeremiah said, letting go of his hand.

Ecco furrowed her eyebrows in worry, she didn’t approve of the plan.

Jeremiah sensed Ecco’s dissatisfaction and he turned to face her. “I want to do this alone…. I  _need_  to be alone with Bruce.”

“…. Fine but I’m not leaving you without transportation.” Ecco jabbed her hand into her jacket pocket and retrieved a set of keys.

“That works. Cookie brought her motorcycle and the rest of us can fit in my ride. We’ll get you there and back safe and sound. If the creek don’t rise,” said Zsasz.

“Okay.” Ecco walked over to Jeremiah and placed the keys in his right hand. “Call me on the radio, if anything should come up. Chanel 14.””

Jeremiah took the keys and quietly made his way around her, moving towards the vehicle. He stopped by the left, rear door and waited.

Taking that as her cue to leave, Ecco took off walking down the gravel path.

Zsasz and the four women follow suit.

 

* * *

 

Listening to the sound of a fading motorcycle and car, Jeremiah proceeded to open the back door and lean in.

Bruce is laying down on the back seats, his body and face covered by a wool blanket.

Jeremiah slipped both arms underneath Bruce and gently raised him from the leather seats. He held his beloved close and carried him bridal style to the empty grave. He had to set the boy down to climb into the grave first. Once inside, he leaned up and peeled the blanket off Bruce’s body.

Trying to be as gentle as possible, Jeremiah gripped Bruce by his shirt and slowly pulled him over the edge. When Bruce’s body rolled over, the older man caught him and moved to the coffin. He took a moment to consider his next move, and thought, ‘To hell with it’. He stepped into the coffin and sat down. Jeremiah scooted lower until he was resting on his back with his head against a stiff pillow.

Decent caskets costed a fortune and they were offensively uncomfortable. It smelled like mold inside the lining, with just a touch of formaldehyde.

Jeremiah turned Bruce around until he was his stomach and sprawled across Jeremiah’s chest. Reminiscing about the past two weeks, Jeremiah held his boy close and he nosed his way through raven hair. Bruce was cold to the touch and his body was starting to turn rigid, a result of rigor mortis.

“I had a vision for Gotham City, and an objective. Wreak havoc and usher chaos into every dark corner, no home would be untouched, and no civilian spared. I was doing a reasonable job, I’d like to think, but then you came along…” Jeremiah inhaled deeply, catching slight hints of earth and iron. He cupped Bruce’s chin and with some effort, he was able to tilt his head up. “What were you doing out there so late at night? I’d just finished a raid at Wayne Industries and-” Jeremiah laughed, he didn’t consider it a coincidence till now.  

Bruce’s eyes are closed, and he doesn’t respond. Dry blood caked his lips and chin, bits and pieces falling away with the change in position.

“If you’d been quiet…. I would have never found you.” Jeremiah pressed his lips against Bruce’s unmoving mouth. “You changed my life-” he whispered, “-for the better.” He noticed the younger male had ice cold lips and they were no longer pink, but a light shade of purple. It hurt, far more then any betrayal or past sins: Bruce’s death weighed heavily on the pale man. He tried to fight back tears but, in the end, heartache prevailed. He sobbed quietly against Bruce’s cheekbone, tears staining his face and the younger’s.

The lithe frame of Subject 514A doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond in any way.

Jeremiah exhaled a quivering breath, “I made you a promise…. I would follow you wherever you go…” He suddenly rolled over Bruce and pushed him against the coffin bedding. He hovered over his lover and positioned each hand across Bruce’s stomach. “I can’t follow you just yet… Jerome reminded me of what I must do… It won’t be his revenge, it will be _mine_. I’m going to avenge you Bruce, even if I have to burn Gotham City down…”

Quiet. Inactive. Stillness.

Having bled to death, Bruce’s skin was unusually pale, and it was fluorescent under the moonlight. Curly, raven locks are tousled, and they frame the boy’s face, giving him a younger, wilder appearance. Those long-curved eyelashes are strikingly beautiful, as were his purple dusted lips.  He resembled a sleeping Bruce Wayne, and if it weren’t for the dry blood around his face, Jeremiah would assume just that.

“I love you. I wish I’d said it sooner… I’m sorry for hesitating.” With a heavy heart, Jeremiah leaned down and kissed Bruce’s forehead for the last time.

Silence.

“Goodbye Bruce.” Jerome climbed off the younger male and stepped out of the casket. He stood for a moment, staring fondly at the deceased teenager. He reached for the handle on the lid and pulled it closed.

It took nearly an hour before Jeremiah finished burying his beloved. He packed the soil down firmly and tried to make the area look clean and undisturbed. It wasn’t as though Lila had anyone checking up on her grave site, but a cemetery worker might notice if he were to take a stroll by her headstone.

Once he was satisfied, Jeremiah picked up the wool blanket Bruce was wrapped in earlier before throwing it over his mother’s remains. He grabbed all four ends of the blanket and scooped the corpse up. He walked away from the area and began searching for an empty plot. It doesn’t take him long to find one on the bottom of a hill.

Jeremiah didn’t see anyone around. Whoever dug this plot must’ve done it quite awhile ago, judging by the hard mound of soil next to the empty pit. It will suffice for now.

“I didn’t attend your funeral mother, so don’t you dare feel special.” He tossed the blanket and skeletal remains into the vacant grave. Picking up a plastic water bottle that he’d filled earlier with siphoned gas, the man poured clear liquid all over the wool blanket. Afterwards, he tossed the empty bottle aside and retrieved a lighter from his pants pocket. He flicked the silver casing back and ignited a Zippo lighter. Having no words to spare for his deceased mother, Jeremiah threw the lighter into the grave and watched the flames hiss to life.

An eerie orange glow reflected in Jeremiah’s pale eyes. He doesn’t show a single shred of emotion or acknowledgment. He remains still, a statuesque himself, listening to the sound of hair and dead tissue crackling away in fire. The smell is repugnant, and whether it affects Jeremiah or not, he doesn’t show it.

Movement catches his eye.

Jeremiah’s red lips formed into a smile.

Jerome Valeska is inside the grave, crouched down on the other side of the fire. He dances his fingers across his knees, grinning with glee at the yellow and orange flames. “Mommy dearest and grave desecration… And at the hands of her favorite son! Hahahahahahaha!!!”

His brother’s delighted laughter caused Jeremiah’s twisted smile to grow.

“Fucking genius Miah! Bravo~” Jerome clapped his hands in approval and stood up. He walked around the burning corpse and moved to the other end of the grave, where his twin stood. He placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head back to look up at his brother. “Gotta say, I do love family reunions!”

Jeremiah chuckled, “No you don’t. You hated that bitch.”

“True, but I don’t _hate_ you Miah~” Jerome glanced down, nose wrinkling from the awful scent in the air. “Fuck that stinks. You ever dig me up again, please don’t burn me. Oh! You can throw my corpse into the river or put me in a box of liquid cement! Yeaaaah, I can be a statue or some shit. But ya gotta make the pose funny, nothing too boring.”

“I’ll consider it,” said Jeremiah.

Jerome looked back up at his twin. “So, what now?”

Rage flashed in Jeremiah’s eyes but the way his face lit up suggested excitement. “Revenge.”

“Now yer talking.” Jerome giggled and he leaned against the side of the grave, watching the fire until it died out and left nothing but a few charred bones.

 

* * *

 

Zsasz drove while Ecco sat in the front passenger side and three Zaszettes are seated in the back. Cookie was following close behind on her Suzuki GSXR600; a typical sport bike that was fast and efficient.

“Ecco, are you okay being treated that way?” One of the women asked.

“What way?”

“Like, a… uh… Dog? “

Zsasz snorted out laughter. “Hahaha! He does NOT treat her like a dog. Ecco here is his right-hand man, er, right-hand woman. Mr. Valeska respects her.”

“Does he _really_ though?” Another Zsaszette chimed in.

“Yes, he does.” Ecco confirmed, sounding more defensive then intended.

“Ecco you’re as good as gold, and my lovely ladies noticed it.” Zsasz said.

Zsasz and his strange, she assumed Southern, phrases... Ecco grew slightly annoyed. The Zsaszettes were sticking their noses in Ecco’s personal business and she didn’t appreciate it. Their observations were based on what they saw during a brief period of exchange between her and Jeremiah. They didn't know what Jeremiah was like behind closed doors. He was once very sweet, and very compassionate. Jerome’s laughing gas might have changed him physically but deep down inside, Ecco knew he was the same man she devoted her life to.

One of the women leaned forward and touched Ecco’s shoulder. “Why do you put up with him?”

The physical contact ALMOST prompted Ecco to reach for her gun, and instead, she grabbed her knee and squeezed tight. She didn’t like being touched, not by anyone except Jeremiah Valeska. “My boss… Source if income,” she mumbled.

Zsasz would have raised skeptical eyebrows, if he had any. “Boss? I thought you two were partners?”

“We are,” Ecco retorted, this time she didn’t bother to hide agitation. “When he first hired me, he was my boss, supervisor, employer, all of the above.”

“What changed?” Zsasz inquired, and when he saw Ecco’s puzzled expression, he clarified. “I mean, when did you two become partners?”

Ecco stared straight ahead at the dark road, furrowing her eyebrows as she thought about it. When did they?...

_“E-Ecco?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“I um, have something for you. I know you hate surprises but please don’t hate me for this.” Jeremiah kept both hands behind his back, and his face flushed crimson as he spoke._

_The reaction was endearing and Ecco laughed gently. “Okay, I promise I won’t hate you. Now what is it you’re hiding?”_

_“Hiding?” Jeremiah’s emerald eyes blinked innocently. “Who says I’m hiding anything?”_

_“Hmmm, ten years of military training, and four years of living with you.”_

_“O-oh, right.” Jeremiah laughed nervously and he shifted his arms to the front, revealing a medium box that was wrapped in gold paper and topped with a pearl satin bow. “For you, happy birthday Ecco.”_

_Ecco’s heart fluttered underneath her chest. Her eyes went round with genuine surprise and she eyed the gift in silence, trying to figure out how Jeremiah found about her birthday. Initially, when she applied for the position, she left certain details out of her resume; real name, real birth date, and location of birth, all of which to keep her identity secure. Jeremiah Valeska wholeheartedly understood about keeping one’s identity a secret. He also expressed Xander Wilde wasn’t his real name, but he never bothered to explain why he used a pseudo name, and Ecco never pushed for more information._

_“How…. did you find out?” Ecco’s voice was cautious._

_“Ah, you’re going to think it strange but… I’ve been watching you very closely.”_

_Ecco raised an eyebrow and stared at Jeremiah’s blushing face._

_He continued, “Around the month of January, I notice you act a little… different. It’s like you’re distracted and when you look at me, you’re actually looking past me, as if you’re talking to someone else.”_

_“Jeremiah-”_

_Jeremiah raised his right index finger to interrupt her, “AND you’re not much of a drinker. The only time you’re willing to share a drink with me is if we accomplished something big. Securing a new client or finishing a project, and you’re disciplined. You limit your drinks and end up taking care of me the next day. What came to my attention was how you picked a day – the same day in January- to purchase a bottle of wine and prepare an extravagant dinner for us. On said day, you don’t hold back, and you allow yourself to indulge in food and drink, sometimes you laugh at my godawful jokes. After three years of this continued behavior, I’ve determined your birthday falls on January 27.”_

_Ecco is dumbstruck. She doesn’t know what to say._

_“I-I know that’s a little unnerving, but I really wanted to show you how much I respect and appreciate all that you do for me! Y-you’re an amazing woman Ecco, and I-I’ve always thought of you as more then just my employee.” Jeremiah swallowed thickly, his throat fell like it was coated in syrup. Crap, maybe he overstepped a boundary. He held out the gift, averting his eyes in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”_

_“It’s okay. I’m not angry, just a little surprised.” Ecco accepted the gift and slowly pulled the satin bow loose. She peeled off the gold wrapping paper and lifted the lid of the box._

_A brand new Glock 17, custom made with a red, black, and white diamond pattern around the hilt and barrel. It was gorgeous._

_Once again, the blonde is at a loss for words._

_When Ecco didn’t respond, Jeremiah’s nerves started to get the better of him. “I’m sorry if it’s inappropriate! I promise, no more surprises and-”_

_Balancing the gift in her left hand, Ecco stepped forward and suddenly wrapped her right arm around Jeremiah’s torso. She pulled him into a fierce hug and pressed a kiss against his shoulder. “Thank you, this is…. The sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I’ll treasure this moment forever Jeremiah.”_

_Jeremiah slowly looped his arms around Ecco’s body and held her close. He smiled happily at the words and nodded, “I was beginning to worry.”_

_“About what?” Ecco looked up._

_Jeremiah gazed into Ecco’s blue hues, he could get lost in her eyes if he stared too long. “That I wasn’t making you feel appreciated, and one day you’d pack up and leave me in pursuit of a better employer.”_

_Ecco shook her head with an amused smile on her face. “Better employer? I don’t think such a person exists.”_

_“Oh stop you flatterer you,” Jeremiah reached up and gently brushed strands of blonde hair behind Ecco’s ear. “Happy birthday, Ecco.”_

_Feeling playful, Ecco dared her eyes to hover on Jeremiah’s full, pink lips. “Can I make a birthday request?”_

_Jeremiah moved both hands to cup Ecco’s face and whispered, “It doesn’t have to be your birthday to request that~”_

_This time it was Ecco who blushed. She leaned up just as Jeremiah leaned down._

_The two kiss each other, each melting against one another’s body heat. It’s a soft, wonderful kiss and they both experience a series of pleasant sparks between their lips._

_Ecco is left feeling light-headed after Jeremiah pulled back just a bit._

_“Grab your coat, we’re going out for dinner.”_

_“You spoil me,” Ecco said with a giggle._

_“Someone ought to.” Jeremiah pressed a kiss against her forehead before lowering his hands and stepping around her. “I have to grab my jacket and keys, meet you outside?”_

_“Mhmm,” Ecco nodded, all starry-eyed and dazed._

“Hello? You okay?” Zsasz was concerned about Ecco’s unusual silence.

“Hmm?” Ecco glanced at the man and shrugged, “Yes and regarding your question… I don’t think I ever felt like his employee. Jeremiah has always been good to me. I couldn’t ask for a better friend and partner.”

The women in the back exchange doubtful looks. To them, Ecco sounded delusional, and neither of them missed the dark bruises around her neck. The one sitting on the left side, behind Zsasz, pipped up: “You should join us! You would make a great addition to the team!”

The offer elicited a partial smile, it was a nice proposal but very unlikely. “Thank you, I appreciate it. However, my loyalty is with Jeremiah Valeska.”

“Awww, that’s a crying shame,” one of them said, the others murmuring in agreement.

Zsasz chuckled, “Ladies, ladies, let her be. She’s a worker bee and Jeremiah is the illustrious queen. It’s not our place to separate them.”  

Worker bee… Ecco didn’t know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment.

For the remainder of the ride, Ecco zones out on the conversation taking place and thinks about Zsasz’s colorful choice of words. In some way, she understood the comparison of a worker bee and a queen bee. Worker bees feed and protect their queen, they’re also willing to die for them. A queen bee, however, doesn’t reciprocate, because she has hundreds if not thousands of workers and drones at her disposal.

Was she expendable?

The thought leaves a sour taste on her tongue and try as she may, she couldn’t brush away the resentment she felt towards Jeremiah. The man was willing to go above and beyond for Bruce, a boy he’d known for less than two weeks. Ecco had known Jeremiah for over a decade and yet she was casually dismissed, not to mention the physical abuse.

It wasn’t fair. She wanted Jeremiah Valeska back before that boy – that thing– stole him away.

Once they arrived at the building, Ecco quietly climbed out of the vehicle and lead the group inside. They went down into the basement area where she entered a ten-digit code and followed up with a retinal scan.

Reinforced steel doors slide open to reveal a vast storage area, filled to the brim with chemicals and dangerous arsenal.

The monetary exchange goes quickly and smoothly. Eventually, Ecco has to usher Zsasz out before the man could poke around highly combustible chemicals.

 

* * *

 

The sun began to rise, chasing away the stars and moon.

All the way on the other side of Gotham City, numerous women are on patrol. They’ve been expanding their territory for weeks now and they aimed to maintain control.

Fog and smoke mixed together, clouding some areas of the streets.

Myra, a young twenty-something-old was walking down the sidewalk, an assault rifle in her hands. Like most of the other women, she’d been captured by a gang who brutally beat her husband to death. Before they could strip her clothes off and rape her, a dark-skinned woman with raven hair appeared out of nowhere and killed the men. The woman had introduced herself as Tabitha and she extended an offer that Myra couldn’t refuse. She ended up joining an all-women armada, led by platinum blonde called Barbara. It wasn’t ideal, Myra didn’t like killing people… but it was a better alternative then trying to fend for herself in the hostile city.

Myra picked up her radio, “17th avenue west is clear.”

“Good. Check the adjoining street over.”

“Understood, over and out.” Myra stuffed the radio in her jacket and continued the perimeter check. She walked cautiously through the hazy street, having to adjust the bandanna around her face so her lungs wouldn’t burn from smoke. She was an asthmatic and had good reason to hate dirty air.

Just as Myra rounded a corner, she caught sight of a shadowy figure darting behind a vehicle.

“WHO’S THERE?!” Myra shouted and she aimed her firearm towards the car.

“Lower your weapon.” Said a female voice.

A woman. Well, maybe this was good, at least Myra wouldn’t have to kill her – or so she hoped. Tabitha and Barbara pushed for new members, they were to recruit as many women as they could. “Are you armed?”

“Yes.”

“Pass me your weapon,” Myra demanded.

Shuffled movements. Soon enough, a gun slides across the pavement and stopped a few feet away from Myra.

Myra grabbed the gun and she lowered the assault rifle. “Okay. I won’t shoot you, now show yourself.”

From behind the vehicle, a petite blonde appeared. She was dressed in all black leather and her hair was in a messy bun. She was carrying one large duffel bag and a much smaller bag.

“You’ll walk in front of me, got it?” Myra narrowed her eyes suspiciously on the bags.

The blonde nodded. “Yes, I understand.”

 

* * *

 

Tabitha was waiting outside the building when Myra and the newcomer arrived. As soon as Tabitha saw who it was, her face contorted into rage and she withdrew her firearm. “The _fuck_ are you doing here?”

Myra was shocked by the reaction. She backed away, wanting to get out of range. “W-what the hell Tabitha?!”

“That’s Ecco, Jeremiah Valeska’s personal lackey.” Tabitha’s finger slid over the trigger.

Ecco remained calm and she kept her gloved hands raised above her head. “Not anymore.”

“Haha!” Tabitha laughed bitterly, “You’re a lying bitch. Why would you turn on your partner now? What’s the motive?”

Ecco lowered her hands slowly and that’s when she grabbed the straps around her shoulders and lowered the duffel bags to the ground. “Don’t shoot. I’ll show you.”

Tabitha glared, “Myra keep your firearm on her. If she tries to grab anything, shoot her.”

Myra nodded and she pointed her assault riffle at Ecco.

Unfazed by the command, Ecco straightened her posture and unzipped her jacket.

Tabitha watched in silence.

Ecco opened the jacket to reveal the bruises on her neck. After tossing the jacket aside, she raised her hands once more, and turned around in a full circle. She was wearing a black sports bra, revealing her back and stomach, which was covered in bruises. Her shoulders and arms are bruised up as well, in different variations of size and color.

“So, what?” Tabitha spat, “Your boss smacks you around a couple times and you decide to betray him?”

“Something like that.” Ecco faced Tabitha. “It’s difficult… loving someone who hurts you repeatedly. I tried my best to please him and I gave it my all…” Something close to grief flickered in those blue eyes, eyes that watered up slightly. “I’m done suffering on his behalf. If anyone can take down Jeremiah, it’s you and Barbara Kean.”

For a few moments, Tabitha remains silent and she considers what Ecco could bring to the table. Everybody knew Jeremiah was an evil bastard and Ecco experienced it firsthand. The same could be said for Tabitha Galavan, she’d endured more then her fair share of bruises from Barbara, but she loved that crazy bitch to death. Killing Ecco would be remotely satisfying. Killing Jeremiah Valeska, however, would bring ultimate gratification and it would snuff out all the other competition.

Still…. Ecco turning on Jeremiah seemed too good to be true. Tabitha didn’t trust her.

“What’s in the bags?” Tabitha asked.

“A peace offering.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes. “A peace offering?” she said mockingly.

“Yes. Assault rifles, pistols, grenades, and plenty of ammunition.” Ecco looked down at the smaller bag, “And proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That I am no longer loyal to _him_.” Ecco lifted her head, she could see the distrust in Tabitha’s eyes. “If you’ll allow me to show you… I severed Jeremiah’s right arm before fleeing.”

That piqued Tabitha’s interest. “Oh really? Jeremiah let you hack his arm off and you came up with this plan?”

“No. I waited until he overexerted himself and passed out from exhaustion. Then I cut his arm off with a katana blade and took off running. I know he survived, he always survives…somehow. But without me, without his men, and without his right arm, he’ll be easier to take down.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Myra, go over there and check the smaller duffel bag. See if blondie here is telling the truth.”

Although hesitant, Myra nodded, and she walked over to join Ecco by her side.

Ecco took a step back, eyes never leaving Tabitha, or the gun pointed at her.

Myra shouldered the assault rifle and kneeled by the bags. She grabbed the smaller one and unzipped it before pulling it open.

The woman let out a hair-raising scream.

Tabitha tensed up.

Ecco didn’t budge.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD! IT’S AN ARM!” Myra frantically shouted and she covered her mouth, feeling a wave of nausea sweep through her.

Inside the small duffel bag, oozing fresh blood, is a severed, chalk-white arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you having fun? 
> 
> I'm having fun.


	17. Chapter 17

Myra lifted her right hand and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

The double-doors push open and in walks Myra with Ecco trailing close behind; another woman cautiously followed behind the blonde-haired woman, gun pointed at her.

Drink in hand, Barbara leaned against the bar counter and observed the women as they entered. “Huh… Tabby wasn’t bullshitting after all.”

Ecco didn’t say anything. She paused and glanced around the room. Marbled tabletops, red leather seats, oak flooring, decadent floral arrangements, and mirrors lined the ceiling. An exotic and distinctly feminine aroma filled the bar and lounge, oriental in nature with amber undertones. The space feels bigger than it should and it was nice, considering the damage outside the building.

“Myra, Jenny, you can leave us alone.”

“Are you sure?” Jenny cast a suspicious glare towards Ecco.

“I’m sure. Resume your post ladies.” Barbara urged.

Myra and Jenny nodded before excusing themselves from the room.

Setting her nearly empty glass down, Barbara crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. She feigned a polite smile and addressed Ecco: “What can I do for you?”

Ecco turned her attention to Barbara, “Your contingent of female soldiers, I want to join.”

“Bullshit.”

Taken aback, Ecco quirked an eyebrow. “I can be a valuable asset.”

“You expect me to believe-” Barbara stepped away from the counter and began to circle Ecco like a predator sizing up its prey, “-that  _you_  severed Jeremiah Valeska’s arm and ran away?” She crossed her arms, eyeing the duffle bag and scabbard positioned against Ecco’s left hip.

“I can show you-” Ecco moved her hands over the duffle bag zipper.

“Ugh, no.” Barabara shook her head and tapped acrylic nails against her elbows. “For all I know you hacked some guy’s arm off and spray painted it white.”

“Why would I do that?” Ecco furrowed her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Why indeed…” Barbara paused, “I want to see it.”

“The arm?”

“No, the alleged weapon.”

Ecco lowered the duffel bag to the floor and gripped the hilt. She unsheathed a katana, balanced it on both palms, and held it out for Barbara to examine.

The platinum blonde moved closer and she reached out, taking the weapon from Ecco. Upon closer examination, Barbara noticed dry blood stains. “A Tachi, the most commonly used Japanese sword prior to the 15th century.”

“How did you know?” Ecco asked, seemingly impressed.

“Ra’s al Ghul has an extensive collection of swords, among other heinous devices.” Peach matte lips part open and Barbara pushed her tongue out, grazing it over the cold blade.

Ecco watched in silence.

“That’s blood alright.” Barbara tossed the katana over to Ecco. “But it’s not Jeremiah Valeska’s blood.”

Careful hands catch the sword and Ecco sheathed it. “Miss Kean, I swear on my life, I attacked Jeremiah and fled.”

Barbara rolled her eyes and drawled out, “Oh really? Hmm, I should inform you Oswald Cobblepot and I are getting married this evening. Wedding reception will be at the Gotham Cathedral, 8:00 p.m. sharp. You’re cordially invited to attend.”  

Ecco’s pursed her lips disapprovingly.

Barbara rolled her eyes at the reaction, “Look sweetheart, I know a con when I see one.” Returning to the bar counter, Barbara picked up her glass of chardonnay and downed the remaining liquid in one swift gulp. “What I can’t wrap my mind around-” she set the glass down, “-is why you would deliberately put yourself in danger. We’re on opposing sides and your death is a 100% guarantee.” Icey blue eyes center on Ecco’s apprehensive expression, “So I’ll ask one more time and try to refrain from lying… WHY are you really here?”

Never breaking eye contact, Ecco found her thoughts racing towards anything that Barbara might deem fathomable. She’d already clarified, and exposed, Jeremiah’s physical and verbal abuse. She could go into depth and explain how she dedicated her  _entire_ life to the man, how he callously toyed with her emotions. Jeremiah treated her the same way he’d treat guard dog; minimal attention, strict discipline, endless castigation. She tried to please the man, be it with her body or undying loyalty but she was  _never_ enough for Jeremiah Valeska. She’d long accepted the fact years ago, however, cruel reality didn’t come to light until he attempted to strangle her to death. Now she understood… There was no place for her in Jeremiah’s life.

Hot tears blurred her vision and Ecco stared down at the floor, nostrils flaring slightly. Her normal, steady monotone voice shuddered with rage, “Men are pathetic pigs. They make false promises, objectify us, overlook our potential, and go out of their way to silence our voices. I thought I was significant, that my life mattered to him-” the woman reached up and quickly wiped the tears away from her eyes.

Quiet and unwavering, Barbara listened.

After taking a moment to compose herself, Ecco lowered her hand and stared at Barbara. “In short, men are assholes, Jeremiah being the worst one of them all. He doesn’t deserve Gotham City, you do. My allegiance is no longer with him.” Ecco took a step closer, “I’m here to pledge myself to you Miss Kean.”

“I see…” Barbara’s menacing glare softened, replaced by a sympathetic smile. “Men… can’t live with them and-” She shrugged, “-we can sure as hell can live  _without_  them.”

A smile pulled at the corners of Ecco’s mouth and she nodded in agreement. “I want every last man in this city, no, the world, to suffer as we have suffered on their behalf.”

“Here, here! I’ll drink to that!” Barbara grinned, exposing every pearly white. She turned around and leaned over the counter to pour herself another drink.  

Ecco couldn’t begin to describe the happy, warm feelings permeating her inner core. Part of her was certain Barbara, or Tabitha would’ve killed her on sight; she bared no ill will towards the two, or their loyal followers.

“I believe a toast is in order! Red or white wine?” Barbara asked, still facing away from Ecco.

“Red,” said without a moment’s hesitation.

“Red it is.” Barbara turned around but instead of wine glass in her hand, she held a Glock 21.

Startled, Ecco opened her mouth to voice her confusion but Barbara was fast to pull the trigger.

A single, fiery hot bullet tore through the air and collided into Ecco’s left thigh.

Ecco collapsed on her right knee, biting down on her tongue to prevent a scream. She looked down and saw blood soaking into her pants, radiating outward. If the entry wound was small, the exit was a gaping mess; a clean shot, how fortunate for her but it still, fucking,  _hurt_.

“I asked you, very politely I might add, NOT to lie to me,” Barbara scolded. She took several steps closer to Ecco, pointing the gun towards the woman’s face. “I thought you were the smart one, all brawn and no brain I guess.” 

“You…fucking….bitch,” hissed Ecco. She had both hands clamped down around her thigh and she applied pressure, attempting to reduce bleeding.

“Eh,” Barbara shrugged, “I’ve been called worse.” A condescending sneer plastered her face and an air of confidence emanated from the platinum blonde. “Any last words for your beloved? I’m sure we’ll be crossing paths  _very_  soon.”

Ecco’s frown deepened into a scowl and after a moment of deliberation, she looked away from her executioner.

“You might be the most foolish woman I know… but you never cease to surprise me. Goodbye, Ecco.”

No sooner did the words leave Barbara’s mouth, the unmistakable sound of terrified screams reached both women’s ears.

_“AHHHHHHHH!!! Somebody get her off me!-”_

_“No! PLEASE!”_

_“FUCKING RUN!”_

Barbara’s eyes widened in confusion, “What did you-” She trailed off, allowing herself to steal a glance at the glass windows.

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

Gunshots cracked into the air as loud as thunder but without the raw power of a storm. Outside and inside the building, the sounds come from every direction. It was then Barbara realized they were under attack.

Knowing Ecco had something to do with this, Barbara whipped her head around and-

_Thwack!_

The last image imprinted on her mind, right before losing consciousness, was that of Ecco’s bloody fist.

 

* * *

 

Barbara Kean came to with a thudding headache, eyes closed against dull pain. Hazy memories returned to her and she cursed her own stupidity; she never should’ve taken her eyes off Ecco, that sneaky bitch. Despite overwhelming pain, she forced her blue eyes open and moved her hands to inspect any further damage – except that they didn’t move. Something was restraining her arms.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Barbara grumbled, and she tried to move her legs – those were immobilized too. She attempted to get up, only she couldn’t…. Oh, she was lying prone. She raised her head just enough to look down and identify thick leather straps over her chest, abdomen, and thighs; the restraints around her wrists and ankles were thinner. Cursing under her breathe, the woman tried to look around the room, but the overhead light fixtures were unbelievably bright – too bright.

The light assaulted her aching head, eliciting an agonized groan. How many fucking times did Ecco hit her? It was as if somebody took a baseball bat and struck her in the back of her skull. Tapping into her other senses, Barbara closed her eyes and listened.

She picked up on a combination of scents; the smell of moisture, mildew, and a fetid, sharp smell that was unidentifiable…

Somewhere there’s a runny tap, with a hint of rust floating through the air.

‘I thought I told Tabby to get the sink fixed weeks ago’ Barbara thought to herself.

The wine cellar.

She was located on the basement floor, underneath the bar and lounge.

“Oh goody, you’re awake~” somebody said off to the side, the voice brimming with excitement.

Blue eyes flutter open and Barbara lifted her head, fearfully searching for the source of the voice. Instead, bright stars affected her vision and all she could really make out were shadowy walls. She tried to wrench her arms free and felt narrow straps digging in her flesh. She cried out in pain and kept battering at the straps with her forearms. They sawed in deeper and drew blood, but trepidation exceeded the pain.

A frustrated cry pushed past her lips and Barbara snapped her head back, the impact dizzying her for a moment. She hit the metallic table again and again with the back of her head, pounding away at her restraints. She yelled out, a shout mingled with fury and panic.

“Aww, Babs~” A figure stepped into the light, “This type of behavior is so unbecoming of you.”

Barbara turned her head to the right, eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the bright light.

Jeremiah Valeska, in all his pale glory, stood there with a maniacal grin pinned to his dark ruby lips.

Wait… Something was different about the man. Barbara noticed his attire, and in the past, it always consisted of vibrant colors- purples mostly. Now, it was a simple white trench coat. The inside of the collar was black, and two black vertical lines rested on the center of the sleeves and across the chest.  He’s wearing two shoulder holsters on the outside of his coat and a matching white fedora hat sits on top of his head. The only spark of color was a red tie, hardly visible between the buttoned-up trench coat.

Besides the lack of color, the most eerie feature was Jeremiah’s expression. In the few encounters she had with the notorious bomber, Jeremiah had never so much as batted an eye at threats and danger. His signature monotone voice and mannerisms made it all the creepier but this... this was _exceptionally_ disturbing.

“Don’t know what to say, huh? Well, what do you know…” The unwavering grin remains, and Jeremiah moved closer until he was at the edge of the metal gurney. “How’s the headache?”

“W-…. what happened…” Barbara struggled to formulate the words while her head pounded, “-to the…others?”

“I know someone who might be able to answer that for you.” Jeremiah raised a white, gloved hand and snapped his fingers. “Oh cupcake, can you reiterate your brilliant plan for Miss Kean here?”

“I sure can sugar pie!” said a high-pitched voice.

Barbara strained to look down and right above her red heels, she saw a woman skipping out of the dark shadows and into the overly lit area.

Much like before, Barbara was shocked into silence by Ecco’s appearance. No longer dawning the tight, leather ensemble, Ecco was wearing a white gown with ghastly black and red stripes. The gown itself is almost two sizes too big, cinched together at the waist with a black belt. The sleeves hang off her wrists by a few inches and an oversize hood loosely drapes behind her shoulders. She now had two messy buns, as opposed to the one she was wearing earlier. What’s more bizarre, besides the outlandish clothes, is the white greasepaint heavily slathered on her face. On the left side, her eyebrow is coated underneath white paint, but she stenciled in a dark eyebrow under her left eye, including a trail of eyelashes. Her lips were tinted red and like Jeremiah, she’s wearing an unhinged grin.

“Long story short,” Ecco reached into the folds of her of her right sleeve and retrieved a tranquilizer dart filled with a purple mixture. “Laughing gas, in liquid form. All we had to do was infect a couple of ya gals and BOOM!” she slapped her hands together.

Barbara flinched.

“They was on each other like a pack of rabid dogs! Seriously,” Ecco shrugged and nonchalantly tapped the tranquilizer dart against her pale cheekbone, “Shoulda thought of this ages ago! But that Scarecrow is one tough cookie to crack! Wouldn’t ya say Mr. J?”

“Indeed.” Jeremiah nodded in agreement, gaze averting to Ecco and softening into a fond smile. “Once we captured Mad Hatter, Scarecrow was far more… compliant.”

‘Why is she talking like _that_?’ Barbara thought to herself. She didn’t know what to make of the Brooklyn tinge in Ecco’s voice or her and Jeremiah’s odd affectations. Was it an act? Were they attempting to rile her up? ‘Whatever, the two are fucking lunatics’, she decided quietly.

In a tone that’s somewhat hesitant, Barbara inquired: “Where’s Tabitha?”

Ecco and Jeremiah exchange pleased smirks and Jeremiah motioned to the side with a head tilt. “Go ahead.”

“Haha! _Ahead_!” Ecco accentuated the word with gusto and she twirled around, gamboling into the dark parts of the room.

“Mmm, such a delight, isn’t she?” Jeremiah looked back down at Barbara and he positioned his left hand against her cheekbone. “Can’t say the same for your beloved, however.”

Barbara snapped her teeth at Jeremiah’s gloved hand, but the man was fast to withdraw.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tutted his tongue in disapproval. “Tell me _Barbara_ ~” his voice dropped an octave lower, “Do you know why I’m here?”

The glowering woman doesn’t respond.

The sound of squeaky wheels gliding across the floor caught Barbara’s attention. Her blue eyes wandered over to Ecco, who was pushing a wheelchair.

Recognition hit Barbara like a punch to the gut. Her stomach hurt, and she choked out a single name. “Tabitha?”  

Chin-to-chest, Tabitha’s head drooped, her long black hair splayed around her shoulders. Her wrists were bound to the armrests and her ankles to the legs of the wheelchair. From Barbara’s vantage point, she can see blood-soaked bandages around Tabitha’s neck, but she can’t determine if the woman is breathing.

“Yes, she’s alive” Ecco piped up, having noticed the worried expression on Barbara’s face. She parked the wheelchair a couple feet away from the metal gurney. She poked Tabitha in the face with her index finger, “Barely. One of your wannabe soldiers stabbed her in the neck and the poor thing lost A LOT of blood.”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER!” Barbara’s shrill voice tore through the stuffy basement air.

“Language!” Jeremiah scoffed and snapped his eyes, “Need I remind you we’re all adults here? Mind your manners and language, please.”

Fighting the urge to cry, Barbara turned her tear-filled eyes on Jeremiah and enforced a calmer tone. “Don’t kill her, please… It was my idea.”

Jeremiah quirked an eyebrow, “Elaborate.”

“I…I’m the one who hired Jervis Tetch to deliver a burner phone to Ivy Pepper. When she took the call, I informed her about Subject 514A, and how he was parading around as Bruce Wayne. Then I…” Barbara’s gaze wandered back over to Tabitha, “I told Ivy you’re the one who shot her best friend and damaged her spine. You and that… _thing_ , are the reason why Selina Kyle is a paraplegic. I counted on their friendship to lead to revenge.”

“Hmm.” Jeremiah’s menacing smile disappeared, and he resumed a blank, unreadable expression.

“Please… let her go. You can take my life, you can torture me, I don’t give a shit. Just let Tabby go.” Barbara could feel hot streams trickling down her face.

“Boo, hoo~” Ecco mocked, and she pretended to wipe tears away from her own eyes.

“That’s interesting,” Jeremiah said in a monotone. He looked at Ecco, “Isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, very interesting Mr. J,” Ecco nodded.

Confused, Barbara had no choice but to wait for an explanation.

“You see-” Jeremiah’s pale orbs focused on Barbara’s tear-stained face, “-Tabitha said the exact same thing. Word for word, almost. Oh please, please don’t kill Barbara for it was I, who made the fatal call to Ivy Pepper!” He clasps his chest and sighs theatrically.

“W-what?” Barbara’s eyes widened in disbelief and she furiously shook her head in denial. “No! She’s lying! She’s say anything to save my life but we both know the truth.” Barbara composed herself and she dropped the pleading tone, opting for cruel suggestion. “I’m the one who’d gain more from your death. I’ve been fighting to overtake your territory and Oswald’s. I was hoping Ivy would kill you and Bruce for me, but it looks like she did a half-ass job.”

Jeremiah glances down at the floor and doesn’t utter a word; it would seem the pale man is considering Barbara’s confession.  

“I hope-” Barbara continued, “-his death was painful.”

Ecco gasped softly and placed her hands over her mouth.

Jeremiah lifted his head and unblinkingly stared at Barbara.

“You fell in love with a science fair project, a _cheap_ copy at that” Barbara spat. “I heard the rumors about how you and Bruce shacked up at Hugo’s residence. You did EVERYTHING to save a creature that didn’t even love you and really… Who could love someone like you?”

Ecco opened her mouth-

Jeremiah raised a finger, silencing the blonde before she could voice her opinion. “Miss Kean, can I ask you something?”

“Do I have a choice?” retorted Barbara.

Disregarding the sarcasm, Jeremiah leaned down and hovered over Barbara’s face, within safe biting distance of course. “Do you like baseball?”

“………” Barbara furrowed her eyebrows, confused by the unusual question. “No?... Not a fan.”

“Hmmm, that’s a shame. Ecco and I are AVID fans.” He flashed a malicious grin and straightened out his posture. He pointed a finger at his consort, “Let’s demonstrate our love for the game!”

“YAY!” Ecco bounced up and down, clapping her hands giddily. “I’ll go grab my bat!” She moved around the wheelchair and disappeared into the darkness once more. Objects clattered to the floor as she searched through a closet. “C’mon…I know I saw one down here….”

Jeremiah hummed softly while gripping the edges of the gurney. He wheeled Barbara around and positioned her in such a way that she’d have a clear view of Tabitha.

“What are you doing?” Barbara’s voice had a hint of panic to it. “I said I did it! Why don’t you fucking kill me and get it over with?!”

“Huh?” Jeremiah blinked innocently, “All work and no play? Honestly Babs, where’s the fun in that?” He approached an extensive wine rack and plucked 4 bottles at random. “Oh, all good years!” he commented. He began walking around the room and placing wine bottles down on the floor, mirroring an even square pattern.

“HAH! Found it~” Ecco announced. She walked back into view, carrying a large splitting axe.

Barbara’s blood runs cold at the sight of the axe blade. Her heart rate increased and she found herself whispering, “No, no, no…please, God no.”

Tabitha’s shoulders moved and very slowly, she raised her head.

“Tabby?!” Barbara almost sobbed out her lover’s name.

Whether or not her vocal cords are damaged, or if it’s a result of sheer exhaustion, Tabitha couldn’t speak. She mouthed the words ‘Are you okay?’ while maintaining eye contact with Barbara.

Barbara nodded, “Y-yes.”

“Tabitha!” Jeremiah gushed, “How nice of you to join us~” He stood next to the wheelchair and stroked his gloved fingers through her raven hair. “We’re going to play a little game of baseball. You’re the pitcher and Ecco is the batter, how’s that sound?”

Tabitha cast a weary glance up at Jeremiah before returning her attention to Barbara.

The two lovers knew that whatever Jeremiah had planned, it wasn’t going to end well for the both of them.

Tabitha silently mouthed the words ‘I’m so sorry.’

Barbara heaved with a trembling sob, “It’s okay Tabby.”

“Sheesh, can it get any sappier?” Jeremiah said with an eye roll. He resumed his position by Barbara’s side he cleared his throat with a cough. “AHEM! LADIES AND LADIES! YER IN A FOR TREAT TONIGHT!” His voice had taken on a New York accent and it was gravelly and rough.

Ecco twirled the axe in her hand and she hoisted it over her right shoulder. She casually walked up the wheelchair and stood in front of it, facing Tabitha with a smug grin.

“Jeremiah don’t hurt her, please I’m begging you,” urged Barbara.

Ignoring her pleas, Jeremiah continued in his overzealous announcer voice: “Now batting number 34, at a whopping 5’6”, playing center, Misssss Eccooooo!!!”  

Ecco smiled and waved at the (imaginary) cheering crowd. “Thank you, my adoring fans, thank you~” She gripped the handle of the axe and tapped the heaviest end against the floor, as though holding a bat. She readied herself and gazed at Tabitha.

Jeremiah continued “Pitcher is readying herself. Umpire throws her a nod, oh what can we expect? Is it going to be a sinker? A knuckle ball? A curveball?! Just you wait folks, you’re in for a show!”

Tabitha never broke eye contact with Barbara and in fact, a sad, knowing smile crept across her lips. She had this look in her eyes that suggested she accepted her fate without refutation. Like a lamb knowingly being led to its slaughter, she mouthed her final words. ‘I love you’.

Barbara tuned Ecco and Jeremiah’s voices out and right at that moment, it was only her and Tabitha in the room. Although her heart was breaking, she managed a small smile and mouthed the words ‘I love you too’.

Tears fell from Tabitha’s eyes and her smile grew.

_Swoosh!_

A flash of movement.

One, single, powerful strike.

Ecco swung the axe at Tabitha’s neck and the blade slashed through skin, tendons, and vertebrae, completely decapitating the restrained woman.

A sickening squelching noise escaped Tabitha’s lips and her jaw gaped open. She looked rather frightful and shocked.

That expression would forever be seared in Barbara’s mind.  

“AND IT’S OVER THE BALLPARK LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! HOME RUN!!!” Jeremiah shouted obnoxiously.

Ecco yanked the axe out of Tabitha and she thrust it against the floor, pretending to jump and shout in triumph. She blew a kiss to her invisible fans and took off sprinting around the basement room. She kicked over the 1st bottle of wine, then a 2nd, followed by the remaining 2.

The entire time Jeremiah is narrating Ecco’s home run, but to Barbara, it’s white noise.

Barbara is stupefied at the death of her friend, partner, and lover. She didn’t blink, she didn’t talk, and she certainly couldn’t tear her gaze away from the grotesque scene before her.

The weight of Tabitha’s head shifted forward, and it rolled right off her shoulders, bouncing from her lap and onto the floor.

It was enough to zap Barbara out of her dazed state and she screamed, “TABITHA!!!!!!!” Her anguish-filled voice prompted Jeremiah and Ecco to stop what they’re doing and stare. Barbara thrust her hips upward with every muscle she had, gritting her teeth when the straps tightened around her form. “You better fucking kill me right now or so help me God-” She turned her icy blue eyes on Jeremiah, “-I’ll murder you and it won’t be a fast death.”

Incredulous, Jeremiah pointed a finger to himself. “Are you referring to _moi_?”

“You’re the only crazy bastard in this room,” Barbara said through gritted teeth. Her strength was beginning to ebb and her pounding against the restraints came at longer intervals. Self-injuries didn’t compare to the pain in her heart and after another failed attempt, she drew in a ragged breath and collapsed from fatigue.

“But…” Jeremiah’s lips and eyebrows upturned, and he appeared hurt by the words. “I’m normal. I’m good!” He walked over to Barbara and peered down at her. “Your mouth is so wide… Did you know that you have really pretty teeth? I like your teeth, Miss Kean.”

“He really does like his teeth,” Ecco added.

Barbara could feel Jeremiah’s warm breathe against her face, and if he leaned a fraction closer, maybe she could injure him. “Fuck off.”

“Your barbaric language is off-putting but your teeth… ohhhh, I want to pull out each glossy white tooth and put them in my Ziploc bag to add to my collection.” Jeremiah patted down his trench coat and glanced around curiously, “Now where is it? I’m sure I have it on me somewhere.”

Unamused, Barbara refused to give into his perverse head-games. She turned her head away from Jeremiah and the bloody scene on the basement floor. For now, she glared at the wall and tried not to dwell on false hope; there was no way she was getting out of here alive.

Pale eyes hover on the crimson pools around his shoes and Jeremiah clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. You know…. I’ve always hated the smell of blood. Metallic. Sickly. But yours-” He looked back down at Barbara, “-is beautiful. Look at it staining your clothes, the gurney, and floor… It’s practically glowing under this fluorescent lighting.” He pressed his gloved hand against the side of Barbara’s head and stroked his fingers through her hair. “Red, the color of passion and love and I can see it blooming from your wounds. One could almost say-”

Jeremiah paused and he removed his hand, only to shove his fingers into his left pocket. Within the folds of his trench coat, he retrieved a plastic Ziploc bag. Laughing in delight, Jeremiah shook the empty bag in front of Barbara’s face. “Oh, there’s my bag! It was in my pocket, what about that? Haha. I can be so stupid sometimes.”

“Puddin’ should I go find pliers?” asked Ecco.

Jeremiah’s face lit up at the suggestion, “Aww, thanks doll! and if you can’t find one, a hammer and a few nails will suffice.”

Ecco giggled and she made her way over to the stairs. “I’ll be back faster then ya can say Molotov cocktail!” She climbed up the flight of stairs and exited the basement door.

“I’ll kill him” whispered Barbara.

“I beg your pardon?” Jeremiah opened the Ziploc bag.

Barbara slowly turned her head to face Jeremiah. “I’m going to kill the _real_ Bruce Wayne.”

Jeremiah smirked a little and cocked his head to the side, “And how do you plan to do that?”

“I don’t know yet but after you kill me… I’ll come back again, and I’ll hunt down Bruce.”

The confident smirk cracked, and Jeremiah’s mouth twitched, a frown threatening to form. “Again?”

“Nobody stays dead in Gotham as I’m sure you’re aware.” Barbara smiled and sensing the distraught in the other, she pushed further. “I will give Bruce an agonizing, torturous death and I’ll film it, so you can hear his painful cries. You’re obsessed with the kid, just like your sick brother and I’ll do what neither Valeska brother could ever do…” She lifted her head and growled threateningly, “-I _will_ murder Bruce Wayne. I’ll remove every single trace of your precious clone and-”

_Thwack!_

Jeremiah slammed a closed fist against Barbara’s face, earning a sharp cry from the woman.

Barbara accidentally bit down on her tongue and she coughed out blood, her excruciating headache returned full force. Blinding, white pain throbbed throughout her face, specifically in the area surrounding her nose. She could feel warm liquid pouring out of her mouth and out of each nostril.

Unfazed by the reaction or the blood on his white trench coat, Jeremiah slipped his left hand underneath Barbara’s head and gripped a fistful of hair. He pulled her down, keeping her head in place so she couldn’t attempt to bite him again. He studied the misshapen nose, taking pride in how easy it was to break it; he couldn’t deny the excitement building inside. He was going to enjoy this oh-so-fucking-much and he would take his sweet time…. Jeremiah had every intention of breaking Barbara Kean’s spirit; Tabitha’s death was just the beginning of her suffering.

Monotone, soulless, and soft, Jeremiah purred against Barbara’s ear. “1 down, 205 more to go~”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reached the 1000 mark as of TODAY! Woot! Woot!
> 
> Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed writing this xD I'm not too good at physical torture scenes but.... psychological torture is just dandy to create~


	18. Chapter 18

“I hate the smell of hospitals,” grumbled Harvey. He glanced down at his sub sandwich; ham and cheddar cheese, with all the fixings. Normally he’d tear into his food but the strong, chemical odor lingering in the corridors was enough to extinguish his appetite. “To think I wasted money on this crap… actually no, it’s not crap. It’s decent for hospital food.”

Seated next to the older man is Commissioner Gordon; his paper bag of food – a chicken sandwich and bag of chips – remained on a plastic side table, untouched. Whether or not he was listening to Harvey was unknown. His striking blue eyes are dull, encased in hollow circles reflecting his lack of sleep and stress level. They were reclaiming the city and square foot by square foot, power was returning to citizen homes and buildings. All was going well, surprisingly, until Jim received a call from Gotham Central Hospital.

According to the nurse, Barbara Kean arrived at 5:00 a.m. via ambulance. A patrolling officer found her unconscious body in the middle of the street, nearly beaten to death.

The phone call stole Jim and Harvey away from an upcoming incursion at one of Penguin’s establishments. He left Sergeant Pain-in-the-ass to coordinate the raids with utmost confidence in his capabilities; at this point, he’d trust anybody to lead the troupe, including Harvey.

Jim reviewed the phone conversation in his head. Nurse Jenkins, as she identified herself, didn’t give Jim full disclosure, considering he wasn’t her next of kin. Maybe it was a careless mistake or maybe Barbara had been too busy to ring up the hospital… Not a chance in hell. Nobody is THAT busy to where he or she can’t pick up a phone and punch in a few numbers. As soon as Barbara was committed to Arkham Aslyum, Jim Gordon removed her from his emergency call list. Technically, he should’ve done so when they separated and he started dating Leslie Thompkins. He didn’t know why he waited and he sure as hell doesn’t have a clue as to why his ex-fiancé had him listed as her emergency contact.  

What he does know is this…. He dropped everything he was doing to go see a woman who’s tried to kill him more than once. Jim tried not to think about how foolish he looked in front of his best friend and the entire Gotham Central Police Department. Everybody was aware of his history with Barbara Kean but, there are pros to being Commissioner; nobody challenged his decision to leave. Harvey griped and moaned about going with Jim, on the count of Jim has been without sleep for over 80 hours. Jim conceded and allowed Harvey to drive him to the hospital and of course, the elder man had to make his ‘emergency’ stop at the hospital cafeteria.

Far too worried to stomach any food down, Jim turned his head to the right and stared at the double steel doors.  Each door has a glass window with the words ‘Surgery’ printed across in bold, red letters. Jim and Harvey have been waiting for over 4 hours in the Intensive Care Unit. It’s unusually peaceful right now and healthcare workers are not dashing up and down the halls in their attempts to save lives. During the first few days of the blackout, caused by none other than Jeremiah Valeska, the place was absolute CHAOS! Jim had to provide a unit to protect the pharmacy upstairs and the remaining doctors who elected to stay behind. Not everybody was going to make it out of Gotham City, so Jim had respect for those willing to stay and help.

“I suppose you’re gonna tell me to quit bellyaching huh?” Harvey nudged Jim with his elbow.

Jim gave a meek shrug and unblinkingly watched the doors.

Before Harvey could add anything, the steel doors opened and nurse stepped out.

Immediately recognizing Nurse Jenkins, Jim bolted up from his seat and walked up to the shorter, Latina woman. His stomach twisted into painful knots when he saw bloody latex gloves and stained scrubs. “How is she?”

Removing her surgical mask, Jenkins addressed the Commissioner. “Two blood transfusions, bone fracture repairs, and multiple lacerations required debridement. She’s lucky to be alive.”

Eyes widening like saucers, Jim took a step closer, confusion written all over his face. “You said ‘nearly beaten to death’, you didn’t mention wounds or bone fractures.”

Jenkins quirked an eyebrow, but she did it in such a manner as to reprimand Jim Gordon for his imprudent remarks.

The impatient flicker in the woman’s eyes and the arched eyebrow feels very much like a slap to the face. Jim recognizes the heavy circles, unkempt hair, and smudged makeup that’s probably been there for days. He swallowed thickly and apologized immediately. “I’m sorry, Jenkins. You’re doing your job and a fine one at that, considering…everything that’s been going on for the past few weeks.”

“Indeed…” Jenkins nodded stiffly.

Stuffing his sandwich back in the paper brown bag, Harvey stood up and joined his partner by his side. “Did Miss Kean confirm who did this to her?”

“No, she was unconscious when she arrived.” Jenkins shook her head and pointed to her own face, “Jaw is wired shut. Interrogation is null at this point.”  

“Shit, are you serious?” Harvey shook his head.

Jim cleared his throat, “Uh, Jenkins…. Do you have a full medical report?”

“I do but you two are not blood relatives and…” She tilted her head, giving both men a thoughtful look over, “Is there an investigation underway?”

The question elicited a sarcastic laugh from Harvey Bullock. He bellowed out, “Are you fucking kidding me?! C’mon lady we’re in the middle of a crises here! My boy here was gonna hitch his chain to that crazy broad and I mean, the two are practically family! If anything, we’ll contact your supervisor and-”

Jim suddenly punched Harvey in the arm, making the older man curse and grab at his throbbing limb. Ignoring Harvey’s glare, Jim politely addressed the woman. “I’ll see what I can do to get a court order for the medical report.”

“Is it true?” Jenkins inquired.

“Is what true?”

“Were you engaged to Barbara Kean?”

Harvey and Jim exchange looks and Harvey pipped up, “You don’t read or watch the news much, do ya?”

“Little to no leisure time.” Jenkins shrugged, “Makes sense… She wouldn’t list a random stranger as her emergency contact.”

Jim was feeling hopeful, “Are you saying I can view the medical report and see Barbara?”

“Hmm…” Jenkins glanced from Jim, to Harvey, and once more to Jim. She began peeling off her bloody latex gloves and sighed tiredly. “I’ll need both of you to wait for me in the waiting room. Let me get washed up and I’ll grab a couple of HIPPA forms.”

“Thank you, Jenkins,” Jim nodded and turned around to grab his sack lunch from the side table.

“In your opinion Doc, what happened to Barbara?” asked Harvey.

The question prompts Jim to turn around on his heels and gauge Jenkins for her response.

This time, the nurse hesitated. She averted her gaze and fidgeted with the inner folds of her latex gloves – the clean side. “In my professional opinion…” Jenkins exhaled a soft sigh and met Jim’s inquisitive gaze. “I believe Barbara was physically tortured for hours, possibly days. Her injuries were beginning to show signs of infection, meaning she was kept in a damp, moldy area with no sunlight.”

Jim stopped breathing; the paper bag slipped from his hand and struck the floor, its contents spilling out.

Jenkin’s expression softened and she murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“Jimbo?” Harvey reached up and rested his hand on Jim’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

The younger man said nothing as the traumatizing news settled inside his head.

_Tortured for hours._

_Tortured for days._

The awkward silence prompts Harvey to guide Jim back over to his chair. “Go ahead and get washed up doc, we’ll be here waiting.”

“Alright.” Jenkins nodded and she made her way down the hall, turning a corner on the left and disappearing.

Jim is hardly aware of his surroundings and he doesn’t realize he’s sitting down again. Harvey resumes his incessant chatter about food and lists off his favorite pastry shops, glorifying jelly-filled doughnuts and pumpkin cheesecake bars. Jim tries to listen, but Harvey’s voice sounds far away and muddled, like he’s submerged in water. He nods or shrugs every few minutes – he doesn’t know if it’s appropriate timing and Harvey doesn’t seem to care.

‘Barbara…’ Jim felt a weight on his chest, and he curled his fingers into the fabric of his pants. Guilt and anger seeped into his body, firing up every nerve until his skin felt like it was on fire. Despite the hell Barbara put him through, Jim still cared for the woman, a woman he was prepared to marry. She didn’t deserve what happened to her and Jim was going to hunt down the people responsible and beat their asses senseless before handing them over to the GCPD; he’d tear Gotham City apart if he had to.

The nurse returned in a clean set of scrubs and her hair was damp, as though she showered off. She gave the men HIPPA forms to sign and went over the privacy policies. Once that was out of the way, Jenkins guided the men through ICU until arriving at room 488. She paused outside the door and turned around to face Jim. “She’s heavily sedated right now. If there’s even a slight possibility she wakes up, the medication could leave her disorientated.” Jenkins held out a blue folder.

“Understood.” Jim took the folder, “Thank you again Miss Jenkins.”

“Mhmm. I’ve got other patients to check up on. Use the call light if you need anything, although, I can’t guarantee there will be an available nurse. We’re severely understaffed right now.” Jenkins bid the men farewell before making her rounds throughout the other units in the hospital.

Now inside the room, Harvey thumbed through the medical report and whistled out. “Damn…” The older man is standing at the foot of Barbara’s bed with the blue folder in his hands. He was wearing a pair of reading glasses and inspecting the medical report – Jesus titts it had to be the LONGEST medical report he’d ever read in his life.

Jim is seated right next to Barbara. He leans over in his chair, elbows on his knees, and his hands tightly clasped together. He absentmindedly ground his thumbnails into the sides of his hands, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought; worried lines scattered throughout his face, making him look older then he really was.

“200 broken bones… over 300 lacerations ranging in size and depth, acid burns, internal and external bruising-”

“That’s enough,” Jim said quietly.

Harvey looked up and hastily closed the folder. “Sorry.”

Jim didn’t have to read the medical report to know the extent of Barbara’s trauma. Just looking at her was enough to let Jim know she’d been through hell and back. Every part of the woman’s body was covered in bandages, while a full body cast enclosed around her legs, hips, and torso. The only part of her body that was visible was her face; her jaw was wired shut. Her skin was a variety of colors, varying from black-purplish to a sickly green color. There wasn’t a person alive capable of inflicting this much damage and pain, it was a fucking  _monster_.

“Barbara…” Jim didn’t know he uttered her name aloud. Was this his fault? Did someone hurt Barbara to get back at him? He acknowledged his past wrongdoings and wanted to make things right again but that was easier said then done. All the mistakes he made, all the people he hurt, all the times he turned a blind eye… This was it, wasn’t it? Karma showed up at the most inconvenient times in Jim’s life and bitch-slapped him across the face.

If anything, Jim was the one who deserved to be lying in bed right now, tortured and beaten within an inch of his life.

The long pause concerned Harvey and he stepped around the bed, gently nudging his partner in the arm. “I’ll uh, go grab us some coffee.”

Good ol’ Harvey. When it came down to it, the man avoided emotional situations like a plague; he wasn’t good at comforting people.

Jim nodded, silently thanking God -or whoever- for Harvey’s departure.

Harvey left the blue folder on an empty chair and exited room 488.

“I’m sorry Barbara,” Jim started off softly, “I wish I could trade places with you right now.” He reached out and gingerly touched Barbara’s hand – well, the cast part anyway.

The room is silent except for the consistent beeping noise emitted by hospital equipment. Tubes and wires connected Barbara to a machine that kept track of her heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen level, and temperature. There’s an IV tube attached to her neck, probably the only accessible part of her body at this time. Jim doesn’t know what kind of pain medication they have her on but at least she was stabilized; full recovery was going to be an arduous journey.

“Do you remember our trip to Canada?” Jim stroked his thumb back and forth over the cast, “It was my bright idea to visit during the winter months and we ended up getting snowed in at the ski-resort.” The memory was a fond one and it reflected in Jim’s smile. “Oh man, you were pissed. I thought to myself, if we make it out of here alive, she is going to KILL me – and then leave me for a guy with some common sense.” He chuckled and glanced at Barbara’s face.

Barbara was fast asleep.

Jim wasn’t sure if Barbara could hear him, let alone comprehend what he was saying in her drug-induced state. He decided to continue anyway. “But we had plenty to eat, and there was enough blankets and wood to keep the ski-resort warm. We snuck out to the rooftop one morning and cuddled underneath a furry blanket. We watched the sunrise together-” Jim trailed off and his eyes glossed over. It took him a few moments to compose himself, “-I’ll never forget that day. I turned to you just as the sun rose over the mountains, casting this … _gorgeous_ , golden glow over your face. For a second, your eyes turned to ember. You looked so happy and peaceful, as if you found your place in the world. I think… I think that’s when I fell in love with you.”

Tears fell and Jim reached up, using his jacket sleeve to wipe away the mess on his face. He liked to think of himself as a strong, confident leader who didn’t let his emotions dictate his decisions. However, with all the stress, near-death experiences, and crippling loneliness, this one rare moment of vulnerability was allotted.

“I’m so sorry Barb,” whispered Jim. When he looked up, the sight in front of him startled him.

Barbara’s blue eyes are wide open and she’s staring at Jim.

“Barbara!” he gasped, leaping out of his chair and hovering over the hospital bed. “Do you know where you’re at right now?”

Unblinking and unable to speak, Barbara furrowed her eyebrows as if to imply,  _“Really Jim? Are you serious?”_

“Right,” Jim cringed at his own stupidity. “How about we try this…. Blink twice for yes, and once for no. Do you understand?”

Barbara blinked twice:  _“Yes.”_

“Do you know where you’re at?”

Barbara blinked once:  _“No”_

“We’re in the green zone, at Gotham Central Hospital. Barbara…” In a low, strained voice, Jim addressed the next topic at hand: “Were you alone? Should I be out there looking for others?”

Tears filled Barbara’s eyes and she immediately closed them, her lips trembling as she relived the painful memory.

Jim fell silent and he watched tears cascade down Barbara’s bruised cheekbones. The only person that came to mind was Tabitha Galavan. Having lost loved ones before, Jim empathized with her heartache and he decided to table all of his questions for now. “Listen, I’ll go uh, get the nurse and have her check your vitals. No more questions tonight, I’ll leave you alone to rest-”

Suddenly Barbara’s eyes flew open and she was blinking rapidly in an attempt to get Jim’s attention.

“What? What is it?” Jim grew anxious and he observed Barbara’s rapid eye movement, was she trying to spell something out? “Barb, do you know who did this to you?”

_“Yes.”_

“Shit, it’s going to take all night if I have to guess the name of the perpetrator… Hang on.” Jim picked up the blue medical folder and he retrieved a pen from his pocket. He started scribbling and wrote down the entire alphabet on the folder, separating the letters into 4 rows. He turned the folder around and held it in front of Barbara’s face. “I’m going to move my finger over the letters and I want you to blink when I land on the correct one, got it?”

_“Yes.”_

“Spell the first name for me,” said Jim and he proceeded to move his right index finger along the rows of letters.

_“J.”_

Jim started over.

_“E.”_

Jim started over again.

_“R.”_

The first name that popped into his head was Jerome, but that couldn’t be right, the guy was dead. Oh, heaven help him if that psycho came back to life again. He started over and moved his finger down the line of letters.

_“E.”_

“Jeremiah Valeska? He’s the one who did this to you?”

_“Yes.”_

Jim lowered the folder and exhaled a slow breath, trying to stay calm for Barbara’s sake. For a number of years he thought Jerome Valeska was the monster out of the 2 siblings. Recent events, however, shed light on that assumption and revealed Jeremiah Valeska as the true, sadistic monster. Well, Jim Gordon will NOT stand by his morals any longer. He’s done his best to apprehend as many criminals as possible without killing – Bruce insisted upon it. Jim was going to make an exception for Jeremiah Valeska and kill the bastard, ethics be damned.

“Ecco and a line of vans were spotted over an hour ago heading North. I’m going to track him down Barbara and I’ll make sure he never hurts you, or anyone, ever again.” There’s a bitterness to Jim’s voice and he refused to meet Barbara’s gaze, for fear she might see the darker side to him. He threw the folder down on his chair and headed over to the door.

From the bed, Barbara struggled to move and she made an urgent humming noise.

Jim stopped, turned around, and looked over at Barbara. “Is there something else you have to tell me?”

_“Yes.”_

Walking back over to his chair, Jim picked up the folder and once again held it before Barbara’s face. He moved his finger across the rows while she picked out letters.

_“B…..U…..R.….N…..C..…I.….T…..Y.”_

“Burn the city?” Jim frowned slightly, “You mean blow up the city? Like before?”

_“No.”_

“How is he going to burn Gotham City? We confiscated the remaining generators and deactivated them.”

Barbara turned her blue eyes back to the folder.

Jim’s finger glided over the folder and letters.

_“W…..A…..Y…..N…..E…..I.….N..…C.”_

“Wayneinc? I’m afraid I don’t understand…” Jim blinked and he looked down at the folder, trying to figure out Barbara’s message. “Wayneinc…. Wayne. Inc. Ink? Wayne Enterprises!” He snapped his attention back to Barbara, “You’re talking about the break-in at Wayne Enterprises right? The one that happened last month?”

_“Yes.”_

Slowly, but surely, Jim began to piece the information together. The stolen barrels contain highly combustible chemicals, and if in the wrong hands…. It could be used for nuclear warfare. Jeremiah didn’t need a generator nor did he have to construct a bomb. All he had to do was strategically place a barrel somewhere in the city and… BOOM. In a matter of hours, Gotham City will crumble to ash.

“Oh my God…” Jim had every right to worry. The bridges are still out, leaving them with limited escape routes. They could utilize S.W.A.T. helicopters and local boats, however, they didn’t have full control over Gotham’s harbors. Thugs and petty criminals guarded the waterways, which posed a risk for civilians. Panic aside, Jim addressed Barbara: “Did he say when?”

_“Yes.”_

Trembling hands lift the folder up and Jim points to the different letters.

_“T…..O…..N….I…..G….H.....T.”_

The folder slipped out of Jim’s grip and fluttered onto tiled flooring. He took a step backwards, jaw gaping open; so much for being tired, he was WIDE awake now. Jim forced himself to breath and mumbled, “I need to make a phone call…”

 

* * *

 

“You may leave now.”

“Huh?” Kyle frowned, “What do you mean boss?”

“I mean-” Jeremiah withdrew his firearm and pointed it at Kyle’s face, “-if you and your lackeys don’t get out of my sight, I will shoot every single one of you.”

Kyle gasped and he threw his hands up in the air, “Y-you got it! Consider us gone!” The man turned around before Jeremiah tutted.

“Tsk, tsk, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Kyle shoved his right hand into his pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. “Gary, Tyrell, bring your keys NOW!” he barked out, trying to mask his fear.

A couple other men stepped forward and they handed Kyle their vehicle keys.

Gary pipped up, “Umm, how are we gonna get around the city?” He stole a hesitant glance at Jeremiah.

Expressionless, Jeremiah tilted his head and popped his neck. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Shhh!” Kyle hissed, glaring at both Gary and Tyrell. He turned around and held the keys out to Jeremiah. “Traveling by foot is okay by me, just come find us when you need another job done.” 

Keeping the gun on Kyle, Jeremiah took the keys and tucked them in his trench coat pocket. “Your services are no longer needed. Consider my allowing you to live as severance pay.”

“Severance pay my ass,” Tyrell grumbled.

**BANG!**

Kyle and his men dive into the gravel ground and they cover their heads with their arms.

Tyrell gurgled blood from his mouth, and he was dead before his body touched the ground.  

Jeremiah’s dark crimson lips twitched into a smile; it wasn’t he who fired the deadly headshot.

Gun in hand, Ecco stood off to the side of the group. She narrowed her eyes in disgust, having lost her patience with the incompetent henchmen. “You have until the count of 3 to get out of my face.”

Kyle lowered his hands and stared at Ecco in bewilderment.

“3!” shrieked Ecco.

The men shouted in alarm and all of them took off at a wild sprint, zigzagging around the black vans and bolting into the streets.

Ecco lowered her gun.

Jeremiah holstered his firearm and walked over to one of the black vans, inserting a key to unlock the back doors. He began dragging out barrels, grunting with effort.

“Let me help.” Ecco holstered her weapon and walked over to Jeremiah. She didn’t know what he had planned or why they relocated the barrels to an abandoned warehouse. The theater building was still intact, despite the people who raided it earlier – they couldn’t get into the basement where Jeremiah stored everything from Wayne Enterprise. Why move everything from a secure location to an open location? It didn’t make any sense, just like firing Kyle and his men.

“It’s fine. There’s only 2,” Jeremiah commented, already heaving out the 2nd large barrel.

Ecco paused and she remained still, a statuesque amongst the early light; the sun was beginning to rise but with all the smoke and smog, it’s rays barely penetrated Gotham’s surface.

Once he finished removing the 2nd barrel, Jeremiah closed the van doors and turned to face Ecco. “Take this.” He tossed her the keys and reached into his trench coat pocket, pulling out a custom-made pistol with gold highlights – REAL gold, Jeremiah didn’t like that tacky fake stuff.

A gloved hand caught the keys and she eyed the pistol curiously, “Who or what am I transporting?”

“Yourself.” Jeremiah closed the distance between them, and he stood unusually close, having to tilt his head and look down at Ecco’s wide eyes. He took her left hand and shoved the pistol against the palm, “Treat this with care, it was a gift from…an old colleague.”

Confused, Ecco grasped the pistol and gazed into Jeremiah’s pale green eyes. “What’s it for?”

“Payment, to secure your safe passage across Gotham’s channels.” Jeremiah lowered his hands to his sides, “Ask for Giovanni. He’ll be expecting you and my prized pistol.”

“What? No, Jeremiah…” Ecco shook her head in disbelief, “I’m not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are. I am… no longer in need of your services.” He turned away and made to walk off-

Ecco’s right arm shot out and she grabbed Jeremiah by his wrist, clenching down tightly. “Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m one of your stupid subordinates,” she threatened softly.

Jeremiah didn’t move nor did he try to break free of Ecco’s grip. In a hushed tone he whispered: “You’re a broken pendulum, heartbroken in number.”

“Huh?” Ecco scrunched up her nose and pursed her lips, oh God, was he about to lapse into another manic episode? She’d noticed after Jerome’s laughing gas took effect… Jeremiah CHANGED, not just in appearance but his mind was altered. Sometimes, Jeremiah is lucid and clever, much like his old self – other times, he goes off like a deranged lunatic without a care in the world, putting everyone’s lives at risk; he’s most dangerous when he’s at that stage and Ecco feared that side.

“My point is….” Jeremiah turned back around and raised his unrestrained hand and placed it on Ecco’s right cheekbone. “If anyone in this city is deserving of life, it’s you.”

Ecco’s grip relaxed and she gradually recoiled her hand, heart racing from the intimate touch. “I don’t understand… 10 years, 10 years of my life I dedicated to you Jeremiah and… I can’t go, please don’t make me go.”

Jeremiah’s expression softened and he placed his other hand on Ecco’s left cheekbone, gently stroking his thumbs across her face. “You, my dear, are the very definition of loyalty and devotion. I couldn’t have asked for a better proxy and friend…. You are my only friend, you always have been and for that I’m humbled. Even when I…. tested our friendship, you remained by my side. I won’t forget that Ecco, I won’t forget everything you’ve done for me, but you _must_ leave Gotham. By this time tomorrow there won’t be a city, and everyone will be dead.”

“Jeremiah-” Ecco whimpered and no matter how fast she batted those pretty eyelashes of hers, tears leaked out.

Inclining forward, Jeremiah pressed a kiss against Ecco’s forehead. “I have to do this on my own,” he whispered, “I have to fulfill our dream. Gotham city WILL burn, along with every pathetic life in it.”

‘Our?’, Ecco thought to herself. She didn’t have a single clue as to who Jeremiah was referring to. The kiss soothed her worried mind and she nodded once. “Will I ever see you again?”

“Perhaps you will, perhaps you won’t. Say what you need say Ecco, these are our last moments together~” he encouraged gently.

Ecco shoved Jeremiah’s pistol under her belt and she reached up, cupping Jeremiah’s face and leaning up on her tiptoes. She planted a kiss against those dark lips and admitted in a hushed tone: “I love you Jeremiah Valeska, I have always loved you.”

If Jeremiah’s skin tone allowed it, he’d be blushing right now. He pulled back a little, a timid smile curled his lips and his pale eyes lit up – for the briefest of moments, he resembles the old Jeremiah Valeska, post laughing gas. “I know.”

“Did…did you ever love me?” Ecco asked in a trembling voice.

“I…” Jeremiah’s smile faded a little, “Yes. At one point in time, I loved you with all my heart.”

Ecco let the words sink in and she gradually withdrew from Jeremiah and gripped the van keys in her right hand. Whatever emotional drift she was experiencing was quickly replaced with a stoic mask and monotone voice. “That’s all I needed to know.” She walked around Jeremiah and approached the driver’s side door. She opened it, climbed inside, and yanked the door closed.

Jeremiah turned and listened to the engine hum to life.

Shifting the vehicle into drive, Ecco pulled out of the gravel driveway and traveled down the main road, leaving the warehouse far behind; she didn’t glance in the rearview mirror.

Jerome stepped out of the shadows and joined his twin by his side, an amused smirk plastered across his face. “Sheesh could you be any more dramatic?”

“I learned from the best,” Jeremiah said.

“Well!” Jerome huffed his chest out, “I’ll take that as a compliment!”

Jeremiah ignored his brother, knowing very well it was just a hallucination, a product of the laughing gas Jerome doused him in. He walked away and started circling the warehouse in search of a side door; the front door had a security wire on it, which would alert the GCPD if he tripped it.

“Yoohoo! Over here hot stuff!” Jerome called, pointing to a rusty garage door.

“Hmm…” Jeremiah approached imaginary Jerome and looked the garage door over. “Good eye.” He stepped up the door and crouched down, sliding his fingers underneath a metal handle.

Jerome laughed and jeered at his brother, “Was that a compliment?! Okay, who the fuck are you and what have you done with Miah?”

It took all of Jeremiah’s concentration and strength to lift the rusty door up, it’s hinges creaking the entire time. He lifted it halfway up, leaving just enough room for him to duck under the edge and enter the warehouse. The place was an old newspaper factory and back in the day, they didn’t have internet or T.V. to broadcast current events. Instead, they printed the news and had messenger boys deliver newspapers throughout the city. That would mean someone had to plan and coordinate routes that reached every corner of Gotham.

“What are we looking for?” Jerome inquired, who was bounding along after his twin.

“Blueprints of the city,” said Jeremiah.

“I thought you had those already.” Jerome kicked at an old typewriter.

“I did, until you broke into my home.”

“Pfft! Who’s the wise guy who decided to blow it up? HUH?!” Jerome jabbed his fist into Jeremiah’s ribcage, making the green-haired male flinch away.

“Stop it! You’re distracting me,” scolded Jeremiah.  

“BOO HOO!” Jerome pretended to cry and wipe away fake tears from his eyes.

Jeremiah was about to reprimand Jerome until his eyes landed on an office door labeled ‘Archives’. He tested out the door handle and was relieved to find it unlocked. He stepped inside and instantly slammed the door on Jerome’s face.

The redhead wailed and slammed his fist against the doorframe, “MIIIAHHHH!!!” He started hollering out insulting profanities and pounded his fist against the door a few times. Afterwards, he started babbling, “Ya know that was pretty messed up! Why’d you lie to that nice lady? You coulda told her the truth Miah! I mean, she saw the news, right? Yer a liar and a coward~ Jim knew it, Bruce knew it, Ecco knew it, ALL OF GOTHAM CITY KNEW IT!”

“1996…. 1998….2001… I suppose that will have to do.” Jeremiah tuned out his raving maniac for a brother and thumbed through a cabinet stuffed with different folders.

 

* * *

 

Whispered rumors flood Gotham’s seedy underworld and the smarter ones are the first to flee.

Oswald had his own personal yacht that he had no intention of sharing with anyone, that is, until Victor Zsasz showed up at his doorstep with a miniature army – the Zsaszettes are armed and ready for a fight.

The older man begrudgingly agrees to take Zsasz and his followers with him, and they quickly make their way to the harbor. There’s a small transaction that involves an exchanging of firearms but Oswald, Zsasz, and Zsaszettes cross the murky waters, escaping Gotham’s horrendous fate.

 

* * *

 

Ivy managed to create a large raft-like structure using seaweed and moss; she strengthened it with tree sap, so the thing was waterproof and sturdy. She was limping and was certain a bullet was still lodged inside her shoulder, but there is no time to address injuries. Right now, she had to get the hell out of Gotham.

A Hispanic woman and her family approached Ivy, just as she’s climbing onto the raft.

The older woman only spoke Spanish and she begged and pleaded with the meta-human to take her family. She motioned to her two young daughters, who couldn’t have been older than 12.

Something about the woman’s urgency and maternal instincts touched Ivy’s cold heart. She allowed the two girls to board the raft with her and she bid the mother farewell before the raft drifted away.

In the distance a mother and father mourned, crying out declarations of love and hope to their daughters.

 

* * *

 

Firefly gave up her weapons and flamethrower in order to secure a trip across the bay. She waited for as long as she could, in hopes Victor Fries would show up.

He never did and Giovanni was running out of patience.

No weapons on hand, but her ability to control fire, Firefly boarded the ferryboat without opposition. She recognized a blonde-haired woman on board but the two didn’t talk to each other, obviously, they had other things on their minds.

 

* * *

 

“Ahh! Stop, please, I need to rest…” Jervis let go of Jonathan’s shoulder and leaned against the side of a building for support. He pressed both hands against his lower abdomen, where a blood stain bloomed through the fabric of his dress shirt.

“Jervis, we don’t have time to rest. We need to get to a safer location.” Jonathan said, his voice alienated behind the scarecrow mask.

“Mhmm…. Just a second, just a minute…. if you’ll let me be in it.” Jervis shivered; the loss of blood left him with a bad case of body chills.

“Ugh, even your rhymes are suffering,” Jonathan commented. “Look, I know you’re tired but we HAVE to keep moving.” He moved closer and gripped the elder male by his arm, “Come on, get up. I know you have it in you.”

Jervis doesn’t register the touch, or the deep inhuman voice addressing him. He began to slump to the ground, head rocking back and forth; his hat slipped off and he made no attempt to grab it.

“Fuck.” Jonathan let go and he reached up, gripping the edges of his mask. He peeled it off and tossed it aside, soon lowering himself to his knees. He cupped Jervis’s face and forced him to look at him. “It’s me Jervis, please don't pass out.”

The older man blinked his eyes open and chocolate brown hues struggle to focus on the worried hazel-blue eyes across from him. Once recognition registered, Jervis's mouth curled into a fond smile. “My love, you’re as gorgeous and pure as a white dove.”

“Heh, that’s your worst pickup line yet.” Jonathan leaned closer and nuzzled a kiss against Jervis’s cheekbone. “Get up.”

Jervis chuckled tiredly, “I’m much too weak to carry on. Leave without me, you haven’t much long.”

“No.” Jonathan stubbornly pursed his lips together, “I’m not leaving you behind Jervis.”

“You have to, my dear. Y-you wait too long….and…. boats, all gone.” Jervis groaned in pain.

Jonathan looked down; blood had already seeped through the bandage covering Jervis’s wound. He didn’t have any supplies to treat Jervis and there was no way in hell he was going to leave him behind in a dirty alleyway. “We’re not taking a boat, and we’re not leaving Gotham.” The younger male lifted Jervis’s left arm and draped it over his shoulders. “Quit complaining and stand the fuck up,” he demanded. He didn’t wait for an answer and instead, he grunted and stood up, dragging Jervis up to his feet.

“NNNN!” Jervis ground his teeth together when he was forced to stand. “I-if we stay, we die,” Jervis commented with a whimper; Jonathan was dragging him along the narrow alleyway.

“No, we won’t. We’re going to go under Gotham, using a disclosed subway tunnel and…worse case scenario, we hide in the sewage system.” Jonathan half-dragged, and half-carried Jervis.

“That…. sounds like a clever plan at no cost… but won’t we get lost?” Jervis squeezed Jonathan’s wrist and did his best to walk alongside his lover.

“I got a guy, he knows Gotham sewers inside and out.”

“I thought I was your guy~” Jervis cooed.

Blood loss made Jervis into such a cheesy nerd; Jonathan would appreciate it more if not for the fact Jervis was bleeding out. Jeremiah Valeska was the cause of all this and if they made it out alive, he was going to kill that bastard for hurting Jervis Tetch. “You ARE my guy,” and with that Jonathan turned his head and pressed a kiss against Jervis’s neck.

Jervis hums in satisfaction and keeps all comments (and rhymes) to himself. He focused on lifting one foot at a time, ignoring the burning pain in his abdomen. He wanted Jonathan Crane to live and that wasn’t going to happen if he gave up and bled out in an alley. No, he’d make sure the younger male was safe before croaking over – who was this _guy_ he was referring to? Maybe Jervis would have to stay alive longer, just to make sure his precious boy wasn’t socializing with shady characters.


	19. Chapter 19

Crushing loss.

A choking sense of despair.

Laden guilt.

Jeremiah Valeska felt all these things, and yet he remained a poised, pastel figurine with unmoving red lips. Like one of those vintage porcelain dolls found at a cheap antique store filled with irrefutable junk although, it has sentimental value to someone. Maybe.

The man doesn’t succumb to grief like a normal person would; whatever normal may be, Jeremiah is anything but.

Falling to the ground, blood draining from his face, a tight throat, and a wellspring of tears erupting.

No, he doesn’t do that. He shed tears for Bruce on one occasion, and that was all he intended to do. Cruel or not, Jeremiah didn’t feel the need to cry for Jerome Valeska. His twin humiliated him in front of the whole city and attempted to unveil his true character. That _abomination_ deserved his fate and even though he wasn’t a religious man, Jeremiah had absolute faith Jerome was burning in purgatory.

“D’aww, yer so sweet~”

Perched above a hilltop at one of Gotham’s largest parks, Jeremiah had his eyes trained on the cold city. “Stay out of my head,” he muttered.

“Pfft! Fat chance.” Jerome stepped in front of his brother’s peripheral and waved his hands around to get his attention. “I live inside yer head, duh! Ya think it’s that easy to shut me out?”

A barely noticeable crinkle formed in Jeremiah’s brow and he stared straight ahead, burning holes through Jerome’s imaginary hands.

“Silent treatment huh? I can do that too.” Jerome inhaled a deep breath and held it. He crossed his arms and smirked a little, his cheeks puffing out comically.

“……….” Jeremiah said nothing.

As the seconds turned to minutes, Jerome started to grow bored. He pretended that he was suffocating, and his cheekbones turned blue. He pointed to his face, eyes bulging out slightly from the lack of oxygen.

Unamused, and uncaring, Jeremiah didn’t so much as bat an eye at his brother’s antics.

“………” Jerome threw his hands up in frustration and heaved out a dramatic sigh. “Yer no fun!!!” He moved right up to his sibling and wrapped his arms around Jeremiah’s neck. He pressed into his body and nuzzled his lips against the right side of Jeremiah’s pale neck.

Although it’s a hallucination, Jeremiah’s neck tingled where Jerome’s lips grazed. He remained perfectly still, with his hands at his sides, and body rigid.

“Jay?”

Jerome paused and he pulled his head back to look at Jeremiah, “Yeah?”

“Why is it I can see you? And not…. _Him_.” Jeremiah turned his attention to Jerome’s bright emerald eyes.

“I dunno, you tell me.” Jerome shrugged and he made to kiss Jeremiah on his perfect cherry lips, but the pale man abruptly turned his head to avoid the gesture. That earned a hysterical cackle from Jerome, “HAHAHA! Are you really holding onto the idea that he’s alive?!”

Jeremiah considered the question and he shrugged slightly. “I don’t see him… I only see you…”

Two hands grab Jeremiah’s face and Jerome turned him, so they could face each other. He leaned in close enough to where their lips nearly touched. “And WHY do you think that is brother dear?”

Forced to gaze into his brother’s emerald orbs, Jeremiah tried to ignore the way his face tingled when Jerome’s hot breath ghosted over his mouth. “I have… an unhealthy fixation on you.”

An amused grin curled Jerome’s scarred lips, “Fixation, obsession, love, it’s all the same fucking thing. Point is…” For a split second, Jerome’s expression softened, and he looked genuinely concerned, and sympathetic. “You can’t live without me. You never could. I’m always gonna be on yer mind, our bond is…. _Unbreakable_.” He stroked Jeremiah’s face fondly, “I mean, you honestly think yer ‘unhealthy fixation’ with Bruce happened overnight? How many times did you read my dairy? Especially the juicy parts about Bruce~ Did you enjoy it?”

“No,” Jeremiah denied. He could feel his face burning hot and he gripped Jerome by his hips, ready to shove him away.

“No? You didn’t like how much I fantasized about Brucie boy?” Jerome mocked surprise, “What about the last pages? C’mon, I drew pictures and you masturbated to all of it for Christ’s sake, all those violent sexual fantasies-”

Jeremiah assaulted his brother’s mouth with a hostile kiss, and he deliberately used his teeth to bite down on Jerome’s tongue.

“Mmmf!!!” Jerome flinched but his brother silenced him in the process.

 

* * *

 

“Jim, it’s not looking good out here.” Harvey was holding a handheld radio and watching the chaos unfold before him.

Hundreds of citizens were diving into the canals and trying to swim off the island.

“I know Harvey, just…. Try and keep them from drowning if you can,” Jim answered. He’s racing down the empty streets, frantically searching for any signs of Jeremiah or his henchmen. “And arrest any looters you encounter,” he added.

“Uh, yeah about that….” Harvey turned around and stared down a block of houses. There’s a couple of masked men breaking into homes and carrying out electronics; there’s probably a shit ton more in the nicer parts of town. Everyone is trying to snag a bone of wealth before the city burns up in flames. “It’s only me here at the docks…”

“WHAT?!” Jim almost swerved into the sidewalk, but he steered back onto the road. “Where the fuck is Ramirez? What about Morris and Whitaker?!”

“Jim…. they left. It’s only me, you, Captain Smartass, and a couple S.W.A.T. members.” Harvey’s eyes looked up as a noisy helicopter began its descent from the sky. “I gotta go Jimbo, another airlift arrived. I’m getting women and children out first. You focus on finding Jeremiah and I’ll keep an eye out for his associates, over and out.”

“Harvey-” Jim stopped when he heard the radio click and static followed. “Shit.” He set the radio down on the empty passenger seat and turned onto the freeway. He made his way across town, towards Jeremiah Valeska’s last known sighting.

They were running out of time.

It’s almost 6:00pm, just another hour before the sun starts setting.

If there’s one thing Jeremiah was known for, it’s his precise timing and inclination to put on a dramatic show. If he’s going to set fire to Gotham like Barbara said, then he’ll wait until the city is at its darkest hour.

Light shines brightest in the dark, and as a twisted irony, the light is their destruction.

Fuck.

 

* * *

 

Pools of gold and red fill the sky. The closest star to the planet slowly crept down, taking with it the promise of another day.

Arguably Wayne Tower is the heart of the city. Not only was it the tallest building but it was one of the newest. Jeremiah knows, he designed it himself and oversaw construction. At the time, he was using his pseudo name ‘Xander Wilde’ and nobody paid him much attention, except for Mr. Wayne; he occasionally stopped by the site for inspection and a progress report. It was a big project for such a well renowned client, OF COURSE Jeremiah had to be there. He wanted to witness Thomas Wayne’s building all the way to fruition, and my, what a glorious piece of architecture it was.

It’s a shame really, it would suffer irreversible damage after tonight. Jeremiah stored a barrel of nuclear chemicals on the ground floor of the building.

Using the city blueprints from the old newspaper factory, he pinpointed the weakest parts of the city that were more susceptible to damage. By targeting these areas he’d create a domino effect that would result in a hellish inferno.

Sometimes, people can survive a bomb explosion or a collapsed building, but this, nobody can outrun the touch of the devil.

Once the sky is black, Jeremiah would see to it that it stays that way.

People will rue the awful catastrophe and Jeremiah will sear himself into Gotham’s history forever.

“Couldn’t have picked a better view myself,” Jerome mused.

Jeremiah hummed, seemingly in agreement. He’s standing near the ledge, overlooking the city he once called home. More recently, he learned home is where the heart is.

And his heart is gone.

Gotham is his home no more.

In an absentminded motion, Jeremiah stroked his fingers over a firm, rectangle object underneath his suit jacket. He’d been carrying Bruce’s ridiculous book of jokes since…

“You put a barrel of that stuff in the building, didn’t ya?” Jerome stood by his brother’s side.

“I did.”

“Uh huh, well….” Jerome inclined and looked down at the vacant streets below. “How do you plan on escaping?”

Jeremiah unblinkingly answered: “I don’t.”

“Really?” Jerome’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He stepped onto the narrow ledge and positioned himself in front of Jeremiah, standing about a foot and a half over him in height. He looked down at his twin, placing a hand on either side of his milky white face. “Why?”

Oddly enough, Jeremiah found comfort in his brother’s warm touch and he tilted his head, pressing his right cheekbone into Jerome’s hand. His iridescent hues met his brother’s inquisitive stare, “You tell me… You’re the one living in my head.”

Jerome grinned like the Cheshire cat, eyes sparkling with mischief and delight. “The clowns’ got jokes huh. Funny, I would piss myself, if I wasn’t a hallucination.”

“Can you keep your jokes and sarcasm to yourself? I would very much like to contemplate my death in peace.” Jeremiah took his brother’s hands and held them.

“Mmm…. I guess so.” Jerome shrugged and he gave his brother’s hands a squeeze. He hopped of the ledge and popped a squat on the floor, on Jeremiah’s left side. He crossed his legs and leaned back on the heels of his hands.

Shockingly, the redhead kept his word and didn’t speak.

Jeremiah is pleased and he returned to silent meditation.

 

* * *

 

It’s 10:00pm and the sky is veiled by a dark, royal blue color.

The air around the city is frigid and tense, as though anticipating what would happen next.

A couple factories, stores, and even a few hospitals have emergency generators. Their lights turn on and illuminate different corners of the town, but there isn’t a single soul in sight. If they had even the slightest shred of common sense, they would’ve fled or sought shelter underground.

Yes, Jeremiah is aware of Waylon Jones taking up residence in the sewer system running below the city. He isn’t concerned about one of Hugo’s illegitimate creations and when his plan is perfectly executed, Killer Croc won’t be able to breach Gotham’s scorched surface. It will be far too dry, hot, and without life for him to consume; if he doesn’t go elsewhere, he’ll starve to death.

Jeremiah assumed Penguin, Victor, and Ecco (hopefully) escaped. The woman is loyal to a fault, but he meant what he said… Out of everybody in this godforsaken place, she deserved to live.

There was, quite possibly, one more person whose mortality came to mind.

Bruce Wayne, the _real_ Bruce.

They hadn’t crossed paths but Brucie was extra busy. He, along with that overzealous commissioner, interfered with his plans on multiple occasions. It was a nuisance, to the say the least, and he was almost tempted to pay Wayne Manor a visit, maybe even have some fun with Alfred while he waited on the flamboyant teenager to return. That didn’t happen, however, because Jeremiah found a beautiful creature that he yearned to care for.

Their romance was short-lived, but Jeremiah undeniably developed an attachment to Bruce Wayne’s clone. He was fascinating, every bit like Bruce and yet, nothing like him at all! He was a walking contradiction, and his innocent curiosity was to die for. He reminded Jeremiah a lot of-

“Don’t compare me to that brat,” Jerome grumbled.

“I wasn’t.”

“Yeah right,” Jerome snapped his eyes and strolled across the rooftop, growing more bored by the second. “Miiiaaahhhh, when’s the lightshow gonna start?” he whined.

“Presently,” Jeremiah pulled out his cell phone and stared at it. He created juvenile explosives, no bigger than his hand. He attached a single bomb to each barrel displaced throughout the city and by no means would the explosion hurt anyone; it was meant to serve as a fuse. In order to light said fuse, Jeremiah had to dial a number and the devices would receive the call. The incoming signal triggers the explosive, and the increase in temperature triggers the highly active chemicals.

BOOM.

Actually, there will be several booms as the city is immersed in nuclear chemicals and fire. Perhaps it’ll make a lovely mushroom cloud.

One can wish.

Flipping the phone open, Jeremiah began to enter an 11-digit number.

Jerome pressed his chest to Jeremiah’s back, and he slipped his arms around his brother’s waist. He held him tight and close. He peppered Jeremiah’s nape with kisses, “Can’t wait to see ya~”

Jeremiah feels his gut wrenching because wherever Jerome’s soul went, that’s where his was going too; he didn’t want to guess where that might be. He exhaled a soft sigh, momentarily pausing to enjoy the attention. “You’re finally getting what you want Jay, I’m going to burn the city down and you better be watching.”

“You mean we’re getting what WE want,” Jerome corrected. He hooked his chin over Jeremiah’s left shoulder and gazed at the buildings across from them. “I always wanted to do this with you, it was my ideal-”

“Date?” Jeremiah finished.

“Hah! You memorized my diary, how sweet~” Jerome planted a kiss against the back of Jeremiah’s head.

“Yes… You were right. I read it one too many times.” Jeremiah resumed entering the last 4-digits into the cell phone. “I’ll see you soon, Jay.”

“Mmm, hurry it up Miah, I’m waiting.” Jerome decisively hugged his brother and focused on the city.

The sound of creaking footsteps catches Jeremiah’s attention.

Drawing out his firearm, the pale man turned and aimed for whoever was unwise enough to climb Wayne Tower.

Before he could push the last number, Jeremiah’s breath hitched, and his grip faltered.

Cell phone and gun slip out of his grasp.

A figure stood across the rooftop, decked out in a black crew sweater, trench coat, and leather black gloves.

Piercing blue eyes lock with nearly colorless orbs and a name spills out of Jeremiah’s crimson lips.

“Bruce?”


End file.
